Never Easy, Always Worth It
by ExecutiveHPFan
Summary: Sometimes it's good to be your own boss, and other times she misses terrorizing the United States press corp from the west wing. But at least here, there is the occasional donut.
1. Chapter 1

**Never Easy, Always Worth It  
**

* * *

It's seven AM and Olivia is running on four hours of sleep and her weight in coffee and, not for the first time since going into business for herself, she wonders what the hell she was thinking.

Abby's hair is in a messy bun, which means that she's probably running on less sleep than Olivia. Quinn is there, looking expectant and alert and ready to impress. Harrison is pouring himself a cup of coffee and Huck is Huck, passive and silent and Olivia's rock.

Exactly one minute later, the elevator dings. Harrison sets down his mug and goes out into the hall. He returns with a short, somewhat stout woman with red hair beginning to fade with age.

Olivia stands and the rest of them follow. "Senator Carlisle. Good morning."

The senator reaches out and takes Olivia's hand. "Miss Pope. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

She studies the senator as Harrison guides her to her seat. She doesn't know much about Carlisle, other than that she's well-known in political circles for being a shrewd, no-nonsense lady who absolutely crushed her opponent in New York during the last midterms.

She sets her briefcase on the desk. Her thin lips are bent in a frown but her eyes are kind when Harrison offers her a cup of coffee. She nods at each of Olivia's associates when she introduces them, and then straightens resolutely.

"Miss Pope, I'll get right to the point. I'm being blackmailed." Setting aside her coffee, she reaches for her briefcase. "Two days ago, I was given an envelope that contained these."

Senator Carlisle sets down a small stack of black and white photos on the desk and they all collectively lean forward to study them. Olivia perfectly controls her reaction but inside, she heaves a tired sigh. It's always something.

"When we these taken?" Quinn asks, spreading the photos out.

"All of them are over a year old, but the times between them vary. Some go back to 2008, when I…we first met."

Olivia selects one photo and holds it up. Senator Carlisle is outside in a park somewhere, sitting at the edge of a fountain, engaged in a conversation. The woman next to her is younger and has a face that Olivia is sure she's seen before.

"Rebecca Quentin." She looks up to find Carlisle watching her. The senator nods to the photo. "She's been at the top of the bestseller list for five weeks now."

Setting that photo aside, Olivia glances at the others. Most of them are innocuous; the two of them walking together, the two of them at a café, outside of a bookstore. But as innocent as they are, there are two damning ones: one of the two of them huddled underneath an umbrella, foreheads pressed together and another of a kiss.

Those last two transform the body language of the other photographs and it is all images Olivia knows too well; practiced distance between them, sidelong looks and hands that are close but never quite touching. Unfilled longing curls up from the photos like tendrils of invisible smoke that only she can smell.

"I don't need to tell you why this troubles me, do I, Miss Pope?" Carlisle is fiddling with her wedding ring.

Olivia takes one last glance at the photos. "Are you and Rebecca Quentin still involved?"

Carlisle shakes her head. "I haven't seen her in over a year." There is just a touch of pain in that, and Olivia files it away for consideration later.

"And you were involved for two years?"

"A little longer than that. We met at a fundraising benefit in Schenectady, back when I was a state senator."

"And you got these pictures a few days ago?"

She nods. "They were waiting for me when I returned to my office after lunch."

"They were sent to the hill?"

"My heart stopped when I opened them." Carlisle's blue eyes trail over the evidence and she shakes her head. "I thought I had put that part of my life behind me. To have it all come back in a rush on Capitol Hill, for God's sake…"

"Was there anything with them? A letter, a list of demands?"

Carlisle shakes her head. "No, that's the strange part. It's like someone just wanted me to know that they had them." She opens the briefcase again. "I got the name and address of the courier. I haven't spoken to them yet, but I thought it might be useful."

Huck takes the slip of paper from her, studies it and Olivia can already see the wheels turning. "Do you have any enemies that you know of who would try something like this?"

Carlisle's lips twist. "Too many to name. You know what politics is like."

All too well. Shifting in her chair, Olivia chooses her next words carefully. "I have to ask this. Do you think Rebecca Quentin is behind this?"

The senator looks Olivia in the eye. "No," she says, and there is nothing but certainty in her voice. "Rebecca and I parted amicably. Or as amicably as we could. We're both pragmatic people."

Olivia studies Carlisle's face and Carlisle doesn't look away. Eventually, she nods. "We're going to have to talk to her. See if she knows anything."

"So you can help me?"

Olivia smiles. "I'll do my very best."

"Good. Good, thank you." Carlisle lowers her eyes. "Because if this were to come out, it would be the end of me."

* * *

"You know, I thought about going gay once," Abby says once the lift disappears beneath their feet.

"I'm not quite sure that's how it works," Harrison pipes up, fingers already flying on his phone. "Looks like Senator Carlisle isn't the most popular Republican on the hill these days."

"Really." Abby's voice is mild. "There was this girl in my dorm at NYU; she had breasts like you would not believe."

Olivia misses Stephen but she can't help but think thank God he's gone. Nothing good would have come out of him being here for this conversation.

Quinn is examining the photos with a furrowed brow. "These pictures are years old. If it were to come out, we could say that it was all in the past and the senator just made a mistake."

"And maybe the handsome prince will propose to the housemaid and we'll all live happily ever after." Abby takes the photos and stands, moving towards the wall to hang them. "There's no way to prove that, no time stamp. These could have been taken yesterday for all the public will know and Senator Carlisle's word is as good as dirt if this all comes out."

"Our priority is to find out who has them and stop them from leaking," says Olivia. "Let's focus on that for now."

"I can start with the courier service," Huck announces, closing his laptop. He glances at Quinn. "Come with?"

"Good. Abby, I want you to get ahold of Quentin's people. I want to talk to her today, if possible. Harrison." He looks up from his phone to meet Olivia's gaze. "Find out all you can about the senator. If there's anything else on her we should know about."

When the room is cleared, Olivia walks over to the wall. She takes in the sight of Carlisle and Quentin, both so clearly in love and wonders if it would've been easier if she'd just stayed in the damn White House.

She pours herself a fifth cup of coffee, goes to her office and turns on the news.

"—the word coming out of the Vice President's office this morning publicly opposing President Grant's endorsement of S-179, the Senate bill designed to give children of undocumented immigrants funding to continue their education. Voting on S-179 is scheduled for later this week."

And Olivia decides, _nope_, to hell with working for the government.

She sets to work.

Abby returns to the offices at eleven AM with a box of donuts and Rebecca Quentin, best-selling author.

"That…was fast," Olivia murmurs, looking into the main room where Quentin is seating herself in a chair. Normally, Olivia waits until she's gathered evidence on a person before face time.

"Well, when Olivia Pope says 'jump'. Or in this case, 'Linda Carlisle'."

"She looks worried. How much did you tell her?"

"Enough to get her here. That is, who I was and that we had a problem with Senator Carlisle." Abby chooses a donut with frosting and sprinkles and takes a big bite. "You want I should call the rest of them back?"

Olivia considers it for a moment and then shakes her head. "Take notes for them," she says, watching Abby wolf down her donut and grab her laptop and the box.

Quentin stands when they enter the room. "Olivia Pope?"

"Rebecca Quentin. You've already met Abby." They shake hands and sit down.

"She mentioned something about photographs," says Quentin, eyes flitting between them. She has a smooth, clear voice.

Olivia lifts a hand and motions behind her to the wall. She watches carefully as Quentin's expression goes blank. The author rises, movements slow and jerky, and she comes around the table, staring at the wall. Her eyes grow wider as they move over each photograph and she stops at one—the one of them underneath the umbrella—and presses her fingers against the corner of it.

"Jesus," she says under her breath, covering her mouth with one hand.

"When was the last time you saw one another, Miss Quentin?"

"It's been more than a year since I've seen Senator Carlisle," she says, straightening. Olivia doesn't miss the way she addresses Carlisle and it draws a sense of empathy from her.

"And you knew she was married."

Quentin gives her an ironic look. "She was with her husband when I first met her." She moves back to her chair, hugging her slender body with her arms. Quentin is very much the opposite of Linda Carlisle: taller, younger by maybe seven years or so, classically beautiful with long, dark hair, an elegant profile and sharp green eyes. Eyes that meet Olivia's. "Do you think I did this?"

"A scorned lover is always a possibility."

"I'm not exactly scorned," she says slowly. "What we had was…fleeting. It wasn't supposed to last and I went in understanding that. We both did."

"Did anyone know about the two of you, Miss Quentin? Did you ever confide in friends or family or co-workers?" Olivia inquires, leaning forward.

Quentin shakes her head. "I didn't even tell my parents. Oh, I'm not exactly in the closet," she says when Olivia arches an eyebrow. "If this came out, it wouldn't hurt me at all. Not in the way that it'd hurt Senator Carlisle." She leans forward and cradles her head in her hands. "God, I feel so bad for her. I never wanted this to happen."

A glance across the table catches Abby watching Quentin carefully as she straightens and smoothes the hair out of her face. Abby nudges the box of donuts closer to Quentin. To Olivia's great surprise, she takes a plain cake one and nibbles at it.

"What does the blackmailer want?"

"We don't know yet."

"If it's money, I can help," she offers. "My new book is doing well. And the senator shouldn't have to handle this all on her own. There are two people in those pictures."

Olivia nods. She waits until Quentin finishes her donut before she stands. "Thank you for your help, Miss Quentin."

"Can you keep me informed? And call me if there's anything I can do." She shakes Abby's hand first, then Olivia's. "And…when you speak to Senator Carlisle again, please tell her that I'm sorry this is happening."

They both watch Quentin exit the office. Abby shuts her laptop and whistles. Olivia closes her eyes.

"I swear to God, Abby, if you say the word 'breasts' to me—"

"You spent the better part of two years trying to get me to sleep with Stephen," Abby points out. "And now that I'm interested in somebody—"

"You aren't allowed to be interested in anybody while you're on the clock. Call Harrison, find out how he's doing with Carlisle and give him a hand. Give me some background on Quentin, just in case."

Abby nods, gathers her laptop in her arms, and considers another donut before heading for the door. She pauses there and twists at the waist to shoot Olivia an impish look.

"Breasts."

"_Get_."

Olivia goes back to her office and switches the news back on. After a minute, she hits the mute button and lets her mind wander over the facts. Her eyes find the crawl, the words 'Senate' and 'bill' stand out against the thin rectangle of black backdrop and as she turns to fire up her Mac, she mentally crosses Rebecca Quentin off the list.

* * *

After lunch, Olivia steels her nerve and takes out her cell phone.

"Beene," comes the gruff reply.

"It's me."

"If this call isn't you telling me that you're coming back to work for us, I don't want to hear it."

"Long day, sugar?"

"I've got an earthquake in Chile, an observation satellite that went down somewhere off the coast of North Korea and a Vice President who can't seem to keep her damn mouth shut. So, you know. Lots of down time."

"Your day is about to get worse." On the other end, something clatters to the floor and it's swiftly followed by the sound of Cyrus cursing. Olivia's lips twitch.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Smiling. I can _hear_ you smiling. What have you got?"

"One of the S-179 committee members had an affair."

"Cuckoo-cachoo. Welcome to the Grant Administration, where infidelity is the name of the game."

Olivia can't help but bristle at his tone. "So has James finally come to his senses and found someone younger and less ruthlessly career-driven?"

"Touché. Which senator is it? DeWitt, Montague? His wandering eye is the stuff of legend."

"Wrong on both counts," she says, taking a deep breath. "It's Carlisle. Out of New York."

And it's a sign of how potentially bad this could get that Cyrus Beene has been struck speechless. "_Linda_?"

"It gets worse. Do you know the author Rebecca Quentin?"

"…You're kidding me."

"Yep. There are photos." She barely has a second to yank the phone from her ear when Cyrus lets out a stream of loud curses. A woman in a Burberry trench passes her by, eying the phone with arched eyebrows and Olivia offers her a helpless shrug. "Caller, are you there?"

"—am I the only one in this goddamn city able to keep their pants _on_?"

"You are a god among men and the rest of us are base creatures controlled by urges. We aren't worthy, Mr. Beene."

He snorts. "Is it Quentin doing this?"

"No. She had no idea about the photos and seems genuinely concerned for Carlisle. There was no note, no blackmail demands. The photos were sent by courier to her office on the hill."

"So you're telling me that one of the few Republicans that has vocally signed off on the bill to fund the college education of children of undocumented immigrants is now being blackmailed."

"In a nutshell."

"This isn't a coincidence. Any ideas?"

"None, until I turned on the news this morning and heard about Sally Langston's loose jaw."

"You think this thing with Carlisle came from her?"

"Not her specifically, no, but it wouldn't be the first time somebody in Langston's corner was a snake in the grass," says Olivia. "If this comes out, it's going to take Carlisle's vote off the table. She'll have to resign."

"Has she said she would?"

"In so many words. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I'm working on it, and if you could keep your ears open I'd appreciate it."

"Of course." Cyrus is silent for a minute. "You know what? Why don't we just retire? Go some place nice and sunny. Bora Bora, maybe. We could lay on the beach and have drinks in coconuts with little umbrellas and get drunk talking about the good old days, just you and me."

"Please. You'd cry yourself to sleep every night if you didn't have James, Cyrus."

"And if you suddenly went missing, he'd hijack the situation room and level this planet country by country to find you."

The words almost make her stumble on the sidewalk, but she catches herself.

"Oh well," Cyrus continues with a sigh. "It's a nice thought. I'll keep an ear to the ground on Carlisle."

"Thanks." Olivia knows it's time to hang up now, but she doesn't.

Cyrus sighs. "Fine, by the way."

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to. He's doing fine. Invested in 179, thinking about several ways to overturn the 25th."

"Well, if he eats his vegetables and lets the Secret Service do their job, he shouldn't have to worry about Sally coming for his seat."

"I'll tell him you said that. It'll perk him right up."

Olivia rolls her eyes and hangs up this time.

* * *

Olivia can hear voices before the lift even reaches the offices.

"—I'm just saying how much easier this would all be if Carlisle would stop living a lie and just be who she is."

"It's not that simple."

"It might be a little simpler if she were a Democrat."

_Lord, here we go_. Olivia hates it when her employees talk politics. The grates part and Olivia squares her shoulders.

"No, it wouldn't be," Quinn insists. "Being gay or bisexual and in politics is never simple, ever, no matter party affiliation."

"It might be easier if all the naysayers got a good look at Rebecca Quentin," says Harrison, eyeing her photo. Olivia comes into the room just in time to see both Abby and Quinn glaring at him. He holds up his hands. "I'm just saying—"

"Lipstick lesbians are hot?" Abby finishes. "Thank you, _Stephen_."

"Lipstick lesbian?" asks Quinn, her nose wrinkling.

"Good afternoon," Olivia says sharply, setting her purse on the table. "What have we got?"

Harrison flips open a portfolio. "Linda Josephine Carlisle, born 1961 in Buffalo, graduated top of her class at Columbia University. Married nineteen years to Adam Carlisle, theology scholar and ordained minister. One son, Lucas, his from a previous marriage, student at Baruch in Manhattan." He adds photos of the husband and son beneath Senator Carlisle's.

"Beard," Abby mutters. Harrison gives her a look. "The husband, not the kid."

"She's center-right in her voting record, always has been, even as a state senator. Clearly, since it's hard to get elected as a Tea Partier in the Northeast. Fiscally conservative but fairly socially liberal except on abortion."

"And gay marriage?"

"Stop it, Abby," Olivia says. "Go on, Harrison."

He shrugs. "There's not much else to say. She's a political teetotaler, no association with anything remotely shady or underhanded. Ran a good, clean campaign during the midterms and by all accounts, a devoted wife and stepmother. She's a vocal member of the 179 committee, something that can't make many of her right-wing colleagues happy. My guess is that whoever's blackmailing her has a stake in the bill going to the White House or not."

"Good. Abby?"

"Rebecca Ann Quentin, born 1970 in Hoboken. _Hottie_," she adds, shooting Harrison a judgmental look. He rolls his eyes. "Graduated from the University of Delaware and published her first fiction novel when she was twenty-six. Her third one just came out six weeks ago, topped the charts for five. She and Senator Carlisle met at an education benefit in New York three years ago, I confirmed it with the chair of the fundraiser who positively gushed about having a best-selling author and a senator on her guest list. From what I can gather, Quentin lives a pretty quiet life when she's not doing the press circuit for a novel."

"When did she move to DC?" Olivia asks.

"According to interviews she's given, she visited here to do research for her novel and liked it so much she ended up saying. Translation: I'm the mistress of a woman who recently got herself a cushy job as a US senator and I wanted to be closer to her. And given how quickly she got here and how concerned she was for the senator, my guess is that she still loves her. Which gives Rebecca a possible motive. I recorded the whole thing on my laptop, if you guys wanted to see," Abby adds. She smirks at Olivia. "Breasts."

Olivia turns to Huck, who is glancing between them with a crooked expression. "I…don't even want to know. We found the courier service and the kid who delivered the photos."

"It was his first time to Capitol Hill," interjects Quinn.

"Not the usual service government agencies employ to do their fetching, which means it could be someone inside trying to cover their tracks or someone outside trying to make us think it's someone inside trying to cover their tracks. Or any combination of that, really."

"Did anyone get a look at the person who dropped off the package?"

"It was a busy afternoon and nobody could tell us anything specific," Quinn says. "All package deliveries require information on the sender in case of failed attempts, and this was the slip the sender left with the photos."

She offers the piece of paper to Olivia. "Levi Roman. 201-312-6127. Anything on that?"

Huck shakes his head. "An alias. Preliminary searches didn't come up with anything."

"And I'm guessing the phone number isn't valid, either."

"The number is disconnected but it's a New Jersey area code. I've put it in the system for tracing." Huck punches a few things into his laptop. "The courier service had a closed-circuit surveillance system. I got the video of the day but I haven't reviewed it yet."

"Excellent. Harrison, you're with Huck. Abby and Quinn, I want you to keep looking for information on a Levi Roman."

Olivia is reaching for her purse when Abby makes a sound.

"So you're telling me that she wouldn't have an easier time if she were a liberal instead of a self-hating Republican?"

Olivia sighs and wonders what time it is in Bora Bora.

"It's not always about that, Abby," says Quinn. "There are perfectly valid reasons for someone of an alternative sexuality to be a Republican."

"Yes, like _self-hatred_."

"That's not true! Olivia's friend, President Grant's chief of staff. He lives openly, right Olivia?"

Olivia had to stop herself from snorting. Cyrus didn't exactly do anything _openly_. "I'm ordering Chinese. Anyone want anything?"

"Republicans are a religious party," Abby says slowly, as if speaking to a child. "The majority of them are Bible-thumping Christians. To associate yourself with Republicans is to think that all homosexuals are going to hell. Linda Carlisle had a two year affair with a hot bookworm and hid it from the world. She hates herself."

"Peking duck. Last call."

"That is the most narrow-minded thing I've ever heard in my life," Quinn snaps. "You are the reason conservatives label liberals as intolerant and high-and-mighty assholes."

Abby grins. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Olivia leaves the room.

* * *

She's in the middle of her third viewing of Abby's recording when her phone rings.

"Have you ever read anything by Rebecca Quentin?" she says without preamble.

"No, but if the New York Times is to be believed, she's this century's Jane Austen."

"And who was last century's Jane Austen?"

"Jacqueline Susann." A chair creaks and Olivia envisions him leaning back, wearing the little smile she fell in love with. "It's the first sign of a workaholic, taking the office home with you."

"I'm in bed, I'll have you know."

"Really." And Olivia can't help it; she grins like a teenager at _that_ note in his tone.

"And I'm not alone. I'm currently sharing it with Quentin's latest novel, my laptop and a quart of orange chicken. Jealous?"

"God, yes. Do you know how long it's been since I've had Chinese?"

Just for that, she pulls her trump card. "I'm also wearing nothing but your old shirt from college." Every second the silence continues, Olivia's grin gets a little wider. "Fitz?"

"You have derailed this entire phone call. I hope you're happy."

"I am. I'm delighted."

"Of course you are. While my brain reboots, why don't you tell me what's going on with Senator Carlisle?"

Olivia does, as broadly as possible. Neither he nor Cyrus nor anyone need to know specifics. When she's finished, Fitz sighs, long and heavy.

"What a mess. I'm sorry this is happening to her. If this gets out, she's through."

"For the moment, only you and Cyrus know. And the only reason I told you both is because Carlisle getting ousted would require contingencies from the White House, if you want to get that bill passed."

"And here I thought the fact that I'm a fantastic kisser swayed you into spilling your secrets."

"No, but that's good for swaying…other things." And she feels proud for making him laugh.

"So…you heard what Sally said?"

"She's always spoken her mind."

"People like her are what's killing the party," says Fitz. "People who see people who look differently or love differently or pray differently and automatically think they're less than. I guarantee you that immigration patrol wouldn't look twice at a foreigner from Sweden, or Ireland."

"Are there lots of Swedes and Irish in Laredo?"

"You know what I mean, Olivia. How much of the opposition is truly about national security or American jobs for Americans, and how much of it is concern masquerading as racism and xenophobia?"

Olivia considers this. The conversation Abby and Quinn had earlier prickles at her mind and she sits up.

"Fitz," she begins. "I need to ask you a question."

"Anything."

"It's something I promised myself I would never, ever ask you," she continues. "And something I'm not sure you'd even appreciate me asking."

"Liv." Concern laces his tone. "What do you want to ask?"

She takes a deep breath. "Why are you a Republican?"

There's silence on the other end of the line. Olivia counts ten seconds and then Fitz sighs. "Have you seen how many sexy Democratic men there are in this country? I would've looked plain and unremarkable standing next to Biden and Emmanuel."

Olivia blinks. "Oh, that's why you're a Republican—you're an asshole."

"I also hate gay people, brown people, people who aren't Christian, poor people, female people, old people, young people—especially young people, kids today are so strange—"

"All right, all right, it was just a question."

"I knew you were a liberal."

"Apolitical," she corrects.

"Liberal," he insists. "I could tell. That smug sense of superiority when we met after the caucus."

"Good _night_, Fitz. Let Cyrus handle Sally Langston and tell Jose to rustle up some egg rolls for the next state dinner."

"I want my shirt back, you know," Fitz returns petulantly.

Olivia grins and licks her lips. "If you want it back, come and take it off me."

"…_God_, Liv."

"Good night, Mr. President."

And oh yeah, it's good to be in business for herself.

* * *

My god, this show is taking over my life. Thank you to everyone who read & reviewed my last story. More of this to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Olivia goes to the offices next day and is assaulted with the scent of stale Chinese food. She also hears voices.

In the main room are Abby and Quinn, both with legs propped up on the table. Both of them ignore her as she enters. Olivia can remember a time when she used to strike fear into the hearts of the peons in the press briefing room. She longs for that time.

"But you do agree that there are merits to smaller government," Quinn says conversationally.

"Of course there are; I think it just sounds like a dumb thing to say when you're running for the most powerful office in the world."

Olivia stares at them. The strap of her bag makes a slow descent down her shoulder. "Please tell me the two of you showered at least."

"I was wearing orange yesterday," Abby says absently, digging into a carton with chopsticks. Olivia eyes her blue blouse and then the chopsticks.

"I asked you twice if you wanted any Chinese."

"We don't like the place you order from, so we waited till after you left to call our place."

Olivia blinks and decides it's too early in the morning to try to make sense of it. "After your—breakfast—the both of you are going out to get air freshener, clear?"

Abby gives her a little mock salute.

"We've been trying to figure out Levi Roman," adds Quinn. Her doe eyes shine and beg Olivia not to be annoyed with her. It's disgusting, how well that works.

"Any luck?"

"Not yet."

Olivia eyes the table and nods. "Meeting in an hour."

Once inside her office, Olivia switches on C-Span and pulls up the Senate itinerary for the day. She decides to place a call to Senator Carlisle's secretary to schedule a meeting to pick her brain.

Twenty minutes later, Huck strides into her office. She looks up from the news and makes a relieved sound. "Thank god, someone sane."

Huck stops dead. One eyebrow climbs up towards his hair and Olivia could kick herself for saying something so stupid.

"They still going at it?" inquires Huck mildly, and she says a little thank-you prayer to whoever might be listening that the comment didn't phase him.

She motions to the chair in front of her desk. "You don't like my Chinese food place, huh?" she asks as he sits down.

"General Tso's shouldn't be that salty and there's no egg in their fried rice."

"Everybody's a critic," she mutters. "Did you review the surveillance footage?"

He nods and holds up two fingers.

"Good. We'll go over it during the meeting." She studies Huck. "Do you ever miss the days when it was just you and me, Huckleberry?"

His brow knits. "We were doing very different work then," he says. "I like this better."

Olivia nods. She tries to imagine Huck on a beach, coconut drink in one hand and laptop in another. It makes her smile.

Harrison, as usual, is the last to arrive. Olivia and Huck emerge from her office to find him chastising Abby and Quinn.

"I've got the longest commute. Someone always beats me. Why is it so hard for one of you to get the damn coffee maker running?"

"Rotten egg," Abby says sagely.

"What the hell does that even _mean_?"

"It means you were born at age twenty-eight in a Gucci suit with a briefcase glued to your hand. Last one to get here is a rotten egg?" Abby explains, having the gall to look irritated.

Quinn _giggles_. Olivia thinks she might have to separate them. Harrison turns to her, expression crazed, and Olivia's suddenly glad he's an officer of the court.

"Sit," she directs. The coffee maker bubbles to life and Olivia cannot wait to learn what fresh coffee smells like when it is tainted by the scent of yesterday's Chinese takeout. Huck, the angel, reads her mind and opens a window before taking his seat. "So where are we?"

"After reviewing the courier surveillance, Huck and I were able to narrow down our search to two possible individuals," Harrison begins, opening a folder and taking out two blown-up photos. Both show men on the sidewalk approaching the courier service from different directions. Olivia squints; one of them has longish dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the other has a thick beard.

"Both of them came and left within the window of time that fits the drop-off of Carlisle's package. We checked back with the courier and they couldn't find information slips for either of them. The manager said it was common during peak rush hours for some contact information to get…misplaced."

"Nice," says Abby.

"So one of them is a misplaced slip and the other is our blackmailer crony," Harrison continues.

"Do we know who they are yet?" Olivia asks.

"Preliminary facial recognition searches haven't pulled up much," Huck says. He motions to the man with the beard. "This one approached from the south and judging by the way he's dressed, I'd guess that he's some kind of tradesman. Plumber or electrician, maybe."

"And this one came from the west. Businessman—something in finance, if the suit is anything to go by. That three piece Armani came into style just earlier this year. The only other thing we can get is that this one's married." Harrison taps the man's hand in the photo.

Abby edges closer to peer at the photo. She makes a noise. "The guy with the beard totally looks like a homophobe. Somebody who'd picket celebrity funerals and yell gay slurs in the street."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Harrison inquires dryly.

"I bet if you were to take that jacket off him, he'd have a dozen of those preachy tattoos down his arms. What's that one from Leviticus that all those conservative radio hosts like to use to justify their homophobia?"

The sound of a chair hitting the floor startles Olivia. She turns to see Quinn on her feet, eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Oh my god."

"Quinn?"

She stumbles around the table, nearly knocking over Harrison's cup of coffee. "Oh my god, oh my god. I _know_ this!"

"Quinn," Olivia calls again, watching her dash across the room to the bookcase.

"Caffeine's a hell of a drug," Abby notes, watching as Quinn's hands fly over the spines of books.

She suddenly makes a triumphant sound and she sprints back to them, slamming a book on the table—the King James version of the Bible.

"Levi Roman!" she says with an excited grin.

Harrison frowns. Abby arches an eyebrow. "Quinn?" Olivia tries for a third time.

Quinn looks around at them all and shakes her hands. "Levi Roman!" Silence. Quinn leans down and flips the Bible open. "Huck, what's Levi Roman's phone number again?"

"201-312-6127," he recites.

"And nothing's come up with it, right?"

"Not yet."

"Nothing will," Quinn says, "because it isn't a phone number. Listen: 'If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them'. Leviticus, chapter twenty, verse thirteen." She turns the Bible around to face them, tapping the passage with a perfectly manicured finger. "_Levi_, 201-3."

Olivia's eyes scan the Bible. "And Roman—"

Quinn scrambles to flip to the New Testament. "Romans, chapter one, verses twenty-six and twenty-seven. 'Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion'." Quinn raps the table with her knuckles. "We won't find a Levi Roman anywhere because it's not a name, it's a code. We thought the blackmailer didn't leave any message, but he did. Both passages condemning homosexuality along with incriminating photos of Carlisle and Quentin. He's telling us that he knows what the senator did and that he wants her to be punished for it!"

Silence reigns for a minute, and then Abby makes a noise. "Huh."

"Fantastic, Quinn!" Olivia exclaims, squeezing her shoulder. Quinn's face lights up like a Christmas tree.

"So we're looking for a religious nut who has it out for Senator Carlisle," says Harrison.

"Great!" Abby says somewhat manically. "That could literally be half of Congress."

Quinn is shaking her head. "Not if we look specifically for the people Huck and Harrison narrowed it down to from the surveillance footage."

"And then our guy would have to be stupid enough to do his blackmailing in person," Abby counters. "The man in the photo, whichever of them it is, is dollars to donuts a paid decoy. These aren't the droids you're looking for."

Harrison stares at Abby. "_Seriously_?"

"Decoy or not, they're still our best leads right now," says Olivia. "Two of you take one, two of you take another, turn their lives inside out and look to see if any of them have any ties at all to Congress, or to the church. Or to the Vice President," she adds.

"Aren't we forgetting something?" Abby looks around the table. "201 area code. New Jersey. Quentin was born in Jersey."

Quinn taps the Bible. "But that wasn't really an area code."

"Still, it's a little too convenient. And this whole thing with the passages and hidden messages sounds like something out of a good fiction novel. It could all just be a front for her to punish her ex-lover."

"I watched your recording last night," says Harrison. "I don't think it's her. She seemed pretty authentic."

"She's a writer. Writers make up lies for a living." Abby shrugs. "I'm just saying, she has the motive for blackmail."

Quinn shakes her head. "She doesn't need money."

"It isn't always about money," says Huck. "In fact, it's hardly ever really about money. It's about revenge. Power."

Olivia considers it for a moment before straightening. "My instincts say Quentin isn't behind this, but we won't write her off. Follow up on your leads. I'll be on the hill."

* * *

In the Senate office lobby, both flat screen televisions are displaying Senator Carlisle's face. Olivia settles into her seat and watches. She's heard, for the last few days, pundits and commentators dissect Carlisle from the inside out and call her cerebral and cold. Olivia watches Carlisle plead her case in favor of 179 and she wonders, _definitely_ not for the first time, what the hell Chris Matthews is smoking.

Carlisle's eyes burn as she talks, and her throaty voice carries across the hall like the resounding knell of a bell. She's captivating there at the podium, demanding the attention of her peers and the world beyond. There is nothing detached or professorial in her delivery today.

The camera pans around the room and Olivia can see Sally Langston's _pro tem_ burning a hole in the back of her skull with his eyes. The look only intensifies when the end of her speech is met with applause.

Ten minutes later, Carlisle enters the lobby. She greets Olivia with a smile. "Miss Pope. Come on in."

"That was quite a speech, Senator," she says, closing the door behind them and taking a seat in front of Carlisle's desk.

"A former governor of my home state once said you campaign in poetry and govern in prose," she says by way of explanation, opening the blinds behind her desk. "Contrary to popular belief, the most powerful tool we have as lawmakers is not money or political alliances. It's our voices. I wish more of my colleagues realized that."

Olivia waits for Carlisle to sit down before she starts. "Senator, we traced back the photographs through the courier's office. Whoever is blackmailing you seems to have a Christianity-based vendetta against homosexuality."

Carlisle's expression doesn't change. "I assumed the blackmailer's goal was to take me down for S-179."

"I'm fairly certain that's a peripheral interest," says Olivia. "If the blackmailer's motivation is fueled by religious ideology, then it would be in his or her interest to cause you as much damage as possible. They had the photos for over a year but they waited until this moment to bring them to your attention." She leans forward. "Senator, whoever's doing this knows you well, well enough to know how much 179 means to you. This isn't political; it's personal. Someone wants to hurt _you, _not the bill."

Carlisle mulls that over, rubbing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes flit back to Olivia's. "Do you still think Rebecca's behind it?"

"We can't fully rule her out," Olivia says, aiming for diplomacy. "You can think ending a relationship is friendly, but sometimes the other person—"

"Did you speak to her?" Carlisle inquires quietly.

Olivia nods. "She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry about all of this."

"And did she give you any reason to believe that she isn't?"

Olivia lowers her eyes and considers her next words carefully. "Senator Carlisle—"

"No." Carlisle's voice is as hard as steel. "Rebecca is not responsible for this, Miss Pope."

And then Olivia knows as surely as she knows that her phone will ring at ten PM precisely tonight, that Carlisle still loves her.

"All right," she concedes. "Then think. Anyone in Congress who is religious, who is fervently anti-gay and anti-179."

"You could start with the Vice President," Carlisle says wryly.

"Someone who knows you well," Olivia presses, "someone who has butted heads with you in the past. Even as far back as your days as a state senator."

"There are too many," the senator returns, shaking her head resolutely. "The list could wrap around this office twice."

"Make it anyway," says Olivia. "We need every advantage we can get."

"Yes, of course." And Olivia knows that expression. It irritates her.

"Senator Carlisle."

"We're running out of time," she murmurs, running her hand over her mouth again.

"Senator, I've got everyone on my side working on this. We're fully committed and we won't stop until we figure this out."

Carlisle doesn't speak for a moment. Then, she nods to her phone. "Just before I went into the Senate hall, I was speaking with Marisol Mendez, a housekeeper from Houston. She wanted to tell me about her twenty-year-old son, Carlos. Marisol is undocumented; she crossed the border in the late eighties because she wanted her children to have a better life here than they could get in Mexico. Carlos is an amazing boy—smart, has a good head on his shoulders. He graduated from high school with a 4.0 GPA but couldn't afford to go to college, so like so many of our young men and women, he enlisted in the armed forces. Because he wanted to continue his education and serve the country he loved at the same time. _His_ country.

"New numbers of military service members who died in Afghanistan will come out tomorrow morning. Carlos's name will be on the list." Olivia swallows. "Miss Pope," Carlisle continues, clasping her hands in front of her, "I know you aren't a genie. If you can't stop the photos from leaking…at least try to postpone them until after the vote on 179."

* * *

Olivia returns to the sound of AC/DC rattling the windows of the offices. She finds Harrison in his office, one foot propped up on a chair, wailing on an air guitar. He doesn't even have the good sense to look embarrassed when she walks in.

"I am the magic man!" he announces over the music.

"Why don't you turn that off and tell me why, Tony Stark?"

A quick twist of his wrist and the sound vanishes, thank god. Harrison tosses the remote on the table and grabs his folder.

"The guy in the suit is _dirty_," Harrison says, holding up a photo of the man with a ponytail. "Oliver Davis, forty-two, works at United Funds Ltd. He's some senior loan adviser to the board of directors. Every business decision he's advised in the last five years has screwed over people you'd consider liberal," he adds, complete with finger quotes. Olivia arches an eyebrow. "His denial list includes entrepreneurs that are Jewish or Muslim, minorities, gay couples wanting to buy a house. A grade-A asshole. And get this: Huck pulled up his bank accounts. Money donated to churches, to pray-the-gay-away clinics, and a big fat campaign contribution to Sally Langston."

Olivia skims over the evidence he's collected. Harrison's smirk is incredibly self-satisfied. "Good. Where's Huck?"

"At United Funds, bribing the surveillance people to see who he's had business meetings with in the last few weeks. If any anti-179 Congressmen and women show up, Davis's ass is grass." Harrison strums a few more chords on his invisible guitar. Down the hall, the elevator dings.

"Olivia Pope, I demand a raise!" Abby yells. Olivia moves around Harrison and leans her head out of the room to see Abby and Quinn approaching, wearing smirks similar to Harrison's.

"_We_ demand a raise," Quinn corrects. "We found the beard guy. Addison Cross, fifty-two—and a plumber. Huck's gonna have to teach me how to do that."

"Arrested in 1978 for beating and raping Sarah Delaney, an openly gay college student. On the stand, the reason he gave was and I quote: 'All dykes need is a proper dick to straighten them out'. Truly charming," Abby says with a sneer, handing Olivia the file.

"He went to jail for seven years," says Quinn.

"Not nearly long enough," Abby says softly.

"After he got out, he attended trade school. He's a member of Our Savior's House, a church in northern Virginia well-known for being anti-gay. Also an avid supporter of his district's Congressman, Tony Richards—also vocally anti-gay."

"Richards is a graduate of the Sally Langston School of Let's Aerial Drone the Southern Borders, by the way." Abby grins. "I think we've got our man."

Olivia glances to Harrison, who has completely deflated. "Son of a bitch."

Quinn looks at both of them, a frown creasing her pretty features. "What?"

Wordlessly, Olivia hands her Harrison's folder. Quinn flips it open and Abby leans over her shoulder to read it with her. After thirty seconds, they both look up.

"What the _hell_—?"

"How is this even—?"

Olivia heads to her office and looks over her shoulder. "If you're here all night again, no Chinese."

* * *

When Olivia finally gets home, it's to a ringing telephone. She actually makes a mad dash for the end table and feels mildly disgusted with herself.

"Sorry," she says. "I just walked in the door."

"A likely story," comes the dry response. "Who is he?"

Olivia tumbles to the couch, tossing her purse on the other end. "Well, he's tall. Gorgeous blue eyes. Sexy lips. Big hands. And he has his own airplane."

"Well I don't stand a chance, then, do I?"

"'Fraid not," she says with a sigh.

"So how are you?"

"Exhausted. Do you know what it's like to be in charge of a group of people who are utterly insane? To have to _depend_ on these people to solve problems all the while wondering why the hell they're allowed to walk the streets without medical supervision?"

"Why no, Olivia. I have absolutely no idea what that's like at all."

"But there's one big difference between you and me, Mr. Sarcasm," she continues. "Do you know what it is?"

"One of us actually has power to do what she wants when she wants and the other is a glorified servant for the American people?"

"I don't have the strongest military force in the world at my disposal," she concludes wistfully.

"I also can pardon convicted criminals," Fitz adds helpfully. "Just in case you get any ideas." Olivia laughs. "Word on the grapevine is that a gladiator in a suit was seen wandering the halls of Capitol Hill this afternoon."

"Stalker."

"Concerned ex-boss," he corrects. "That was quite a rousing speech Senator Carlisle gave on the floor today. You'd never know anything was wrong. How's she doing?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected." Carlos and Marisol and Carlisle's defeated expression flit through Olivia's mind. "She's—getting discouraged. That bill is her baby. It means so much to her and she doesn't want anything jeopardizing it."

"I'd hate to lose her. She's a powerhouse in the party. But if we have to see her go, then the least we can do is get this damn bill passed," says Fitz. "Cy's been working on a plan B all day today."

"Has he climbed into the sandbox with the minority whip yet? Because that's what this'll take, since all the Senate Republicans are burning you in effigy right now."

"And there's Sally Langston, passing out the matches," he replies with a snort. "Cyrus is giving the party loyalty angle with the majority leader another shot. Reaching across the aisle on bended knee is his last resort scenario."

"Mmm," says Olivia. "Bipartisanship. The apocalypse is nigh."

"You scoff, madam, but you know what this'll cost us. It doesn't matter that I'm with the left on 179; I'll be paying back favors for this for the rest of my term. But if the whip can wrangle the few outliers in his party, it'll be worth it."

"You noble, self-sacrificing thing, you," she croons, earning her a deep laugh from Fitz. They are plunged into a silence, still warm and comfortable and Olivia is glad that they can still have this, after all that's passed between them. "Hey, what do you think about AC/DC?"

"I won't say no to tickets if you have them but Guns and Roses is more my flavor. And Pat Benatar; I had such a thing for her in high school."

"Pat Benatar," she deadpans.

"Love is a battle—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

"Sleep well, Livvie," he says sweetly before the line goes dead.

Olivia puts the phone back in its stand and imagines Fitzgerald Grant with obnoxiously big hair, in ripped jeans and a leather jacket. She laughs and laughs.

Her phone rings again just as she's getting ready to climb under the covers and nod off. Her hand flies out to her nightstand; she knows instinctively that it isn't Fitz.

"What is it?" she says sharply.

"Miss Pope?"

Olivia jolts up in bed. "Senator Carlisle? Where are you, are you okay?"

There is a strange, snuffling noise. "Someone just broke into my house."


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia barely manages one knock on the door before it flies open.

"I'm sorry," Carlisle bursts out, "I'm sorry, but you were the first person I thought to—"

"You were right to," Olivia assures her, stepping inside and surrendering to the urge to pull her into a hug. The senator seems thankful for it, letting out a breath. She pulls away and gingerly touches the bruise on Carlisle's cheek.

"It's fine. I'm mostly just…startled." Carlisle opens her mouth to say more, but another knock on the door interrupts her. Her eyes fly to it. Olivia squeezes her arms.

"I called the rest of my team on the way. I want all our eyes on this."

Huck is the first to arrive. Quinn, Abby and Harrison follow shortly thereafter. By that time, Carlisle has calmed down considerably and Olivia has given her a cup of tea to nurse while they examine everything.

Olivia looks at the photographs on the mantle. One of the stepson's high school graduation catches her eye. Both Carlisle and her husband stand behind the teenager wearing identical proud smiles. "Where's your husband?"

"Hawaii, on a summit with his church. I was just about to call—" Abby strides forward and snatches the phone from the Senator's hand. "What in the world are you—?"

"No phone calls," says Abby firmly.

The senator's eyes fly to Olivia. "Miss Pope—!"

"Just for now, Senator Carlisle. The less you involve the people you love in this, the safer everyone will be."

Carlisle rubs her thumbs over her mug and bows her head resolutely. "Very well."

Olivia motions them all towards the broken window.

"Is it okay to be here?" Quinn asks under her breath, glancing back at the senator. "Whoever it was who broke in might come back."

"Good, that would make our jobs a hell of a lot easier," says Harrison. "He'd be the dumbest criminal in the world if he came back now."

"We only need enough time to examine the scene and figure out what to do. Gloves on," Olivia commands, putting on a pair herself. "What have we got?"

"Perp entered here, obviously," says Abby, motioning to the busted window. She leans down and opens up a thin box of dark powder. "Strategically chosen as it points away from the street and is blocked by Senator Carlisle's rosebushes."

"What woke you up, Senator?" Olivia asks. "The sound of the glass breaking or the sounds of him moving around inside?"

"A little of both, I think. I thought I heard something rattling, but I thought I was dreaming. I don't worry much about noises, because the alarm—"

"What alarm?" Olivia demands, circling back to look at the front door. Sure enough, there's a panel there. "Huck."

He's at her side in an instant, meticulous fingers flipping it open and experimentally pressing buttons. "The PCU is dead. How long has this been out?"

"It was working fine when I came home tonight," Carlisle responds. "I arm it going out and coming in."

"Whoever broke in disabled it, then," Huck mutters, going back to the living room window. He leans down past Abby and rips something off the broken glass. He holds it up for Carlisle to see—an ADT decal. "I hate these things. All they do is tell intruders there's an extra step they have to take before busting into your home."

"So the burglar came around to the window, saw the sticker, figured out there was an alarm and then disabled it," Harrison summarizes.

"Someone smart enough to do that, and smart enough to know not to cut power to the house in the process," continues Huck. "What time did you go to bed, Senator?"

Carlisle glances at the wall clock. "A little after ten, like I always do."

"And you called me at twelve-thirty nine," Olivia says. She looks at Huck. "An hour and a half, tops."

"Not getting any prints," announces Abby, running her brush over the sill before wiping it clean of powder. "He had gloves on."

"This is not an amateur," Huck concludes. "Someone knows what they're doing."

Quinn is examining a curio cabinet next to the window. "Was anything stolen?"

"Not that I can see," Carlisle says, shaking her head.

"So the sounds woke you up. What did you do next?" Olivia asks.

Carlisle inhales. "I…I climbed out of bed and looked out into the hallway. I was sure I heard footsteps, so I followed the sound." One trembling hand covers her face. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"That if it was an intruder, your alarm would've gone off," Quinn says, warmth in her eyes.

"I edged down the hall as quietly as I could. And then…" She takes another breath. "It was a man. He stepped right into the hallway from the living room. He rushed at me and I didn't—_couldn't_ move. Couldn't make a sound. He hit me, and I fell."

Harrison comes over to Carlisle, a question in his eyes. She nods and gently, he tilts her head in his direction and examines the bruise. "Back of the hand," he announces, brushing a thumb under the small cut against her cheekbone and pulling away the second she winces. "He was wearing a ring on his middle finger. His gloves must have been thin enough that the ring cut through it—cheap cloth, probably."

"Did you get a look at him? Facial features, clothing?" Abby prompts.

Carlisle shakes her head. "He was wearing black and had a mask over his face. I couldn't even see his eyes. He was tall, maybe five inches taller than me. After he got me on the ground, he climbed on top of me and pinned my wrists down in one hand."

An alarm goes off in Olivia's head. "Did he say anything?"

Carlisle lowers her eyes and wraps her arms around her body. "Dyke." Olivia's eyes connect with Abby's. "And then, it was over. He just got up and ran off, back through the window. I don't know what happened. After, I called you."

Olivia looks around at the living room. Other than the window, nothing else is out of place. When she meets the eyes of her employees, she knows they've reached the same conclusion. Not a burglar.

"We need to relocate her," Harrison states. "She needs to stay in the offices."

Carlisle leaps to her feet. "Absolutely not."

"Pack a single change of clothes. Don't use any of her luggage," Olivia tells Quinn, who nods and heads to the bedroom.

"Miss Pope! This could have been completely unrelated to the photographs. Just because he called me—"

"It's related, Senator. Trust me. And even if I didn't think it was, I wouldn't gamble your life on that slim chance."

"It isn't your life to gamble!"

Olivia looks at Carlisle levelly. "Yes it is, Senator. You hired me to protect you from scandal and part of that protection requires that you do exactly what I tell you." Carlisle averts her gaze and folds her arms over her chest. Olivia takes a step closer. "Linda, there's a reason you called me and not the police."

"I have to be there to vote. I _have_ to."

In that moment, Olivia wants nothing more than to break her cardinal rule and make a promise. "We have three days to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you have to come with us, Senator. Let us do our work."

Carlisle finally nods, lowering herself onto the couch again. Olivia thinks that when she finds whoever's behind all of this, she's going to hurt them for reducing such a powerful woman to this.

She turns to her gladiators. "As if she was taken. Get to it."

"I've got the bedroom and hall," Harrison says, disappearing into the hallway.

Huck climbs out of the window and surveys the grass. "Abby, I'm going to need you."

"What are they doing?" Carlisle asks, watching Abby follow Huck outside before turning to Olivia.

"We're going to make it look like you were kidnapped," she explains, her brain moving a mile a minute. "Like this person broke in and took you right out of bed." Olivia hits the light switch, bathing the room in darkness. "Just in case the neighbors are looking."

"I don't understand."

"Huck is dragging Abby through the yard as though trying to abduct her, to make it look like the lawn is mussed. Harrison is going to make the bedroom and hallway look like scenes of a struggle." Carlisle is craning her neck to get a look down the hallway. She flinches when something clatters to the floor—a lamp, probably. Olivia sits down next to her. "Listen to me, Senator. This is effectively going into hiding. You are going to leave everything here—purse, wallet, keys, cell phone. _Everything_. Nothing but the clothes on your back and the single change Quinn's packing for you."

"My husband's coming back in two days."

Olivia regards her sympathetically. "You can't be in contact with anyone, family included."

Carlisle's eyes widen. "He's going to think I'm—"

"I'm sorry, Senator."

"Going somewhere safe, I can understand, but…letting him think I'm missing? _Dead_?"

"That's the point. When people discover you're missing, the media will be all over it and it will put heat on whoever's behind the blackmailing."

"You want to flush them out," Carlisle hedges.

"That's the plan. When the attacker realizes that you're missing when he knows for a fact that he just roughed you up and left you here, he and his boss are going to have words and hopefully panic. And when people panic, that's when mistakes are made."

"I still don't understand why my family can't—"

"Because they aren't politicians, Senator," Olivia says flatly. "When the story breaks there are going to be schools of reporters swarming around them, asking them what they know and how they feel and unless you've been in this business like we have, you don't know how to lie, or how to put on a face. Every word they say will be dissected. They will be under intense media scrutiny and the only way to ensure that people will believe that you're truly missing is to make sure your husband and stepson and parents honestly think you're gone."

"It just…seems so cruel." Carlisle gives Olivia a helpless look. "When this is all over, what do I say? How do I explain this to them?"

Olivia takes her hand. "We'll figure it all out. You won't be alone."

"Blood." Olivia turns to find Huck's head in the window. He motions to the jagged pieces of glass. "Kind of impossible to be dragged out of a broken window without cutting yourself."

Olivia looks to the senator next to her. She squeezes her hand. Carlisle, jaw set in determination, stands up.

* * *

It's well after one before they get Carlisle to the offices. Olivia has them leave separately, take different routes and arrive at different times just in case and she keeps her eyes fixed on the highway the whole way, but nothing seems amiss. The signs of the night are all on them by the time they bundle the senator into the elevator; Harrison is pinching his nose, Quinn is yawning and Abby is rubbing the back of her neck.

"Day's going to get a lot longer than this," Olivia murmurs, not unkindly, as the grates open up. As they pass by the kitchenette, Abby ducks inside to turn on the coffee maker. Harrison's eyes follow her and she catches sight of him looking when she emerges.

"Do you need a hand wiping that stupid look off your face?"

Harrison sighs. "Just when I start to think you're a decent human being."

"Life's full of disappointments, Chuckles."

Olivia holds up her hand when Harrison starts to respond. "Enough." She touches Carlisle's arm. "Is there anyone still in your office or at the switchboard this time of night?"

Carlisle nods. "My secretary would have gone home but her assistant Jonathan should still be there. The hill is never empty so close to voting."

"Good." One last thing to set it in motion. Olivia turns to Huck. "Spoof call the assistant," she says. "Make it sound like she's been gone for hours. This way, Senator," she says after Huck takes off towards his office. "You should try to get some sleep, if you can."

Carlisle rubs a hand over her mouth tiredly. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep until all this mess is over."

"You should try. A shower first, maybe? And we'll get you something to eat." She gives Carlisle her best reassuring smile and pushes open the door to the office. The senator's eyes wander over her indefinite new home and Harrison sets the bag on the sofa. She looks over her shoulder at Olivia and nods.

"I really do appreciate this," she intones, but the defeated look in her eyes undermines the words. Olivia nods and grips the handle to the door.

The second it closes, Abby whips around to Olivia. "It's Cross."

"We don't know—" Harrison begins but she cuts him off.

"It's _Cross_. A history of violence, the dyke comment, was there at the courier's office, and he's five-ten—five and a half inches taller than Carlisle."

"We need more," Olivia insists and Abby's expression turns incredulous.

"More of _what_? Do you need him to show up here holding a sign saying he did it?"

"He stopped. He pinned her to the ground but he stopped," Olivia presses. "Why would he stop?"

"Maybe he heard a noise? Or maybe he lost his nerve?" Quinn suggests.

"No, no, men like that don't lose their nerve. Cross has raped before, he knows what it feels like, he _likes_ the way it feels. He had her there on the ground, the house was empty. He wouldn't have stopped." The scenario plays out in double time through Olivia's mind and she knows like she knows the sun will rise in the east that she's missing something.

"It's done," Huck says, rejoining them in front of Harrison's office. "Senator Carlisle was supposed to meet a family friend for a late meal and never showed. He was very concerned after not getting any answer at her home." He glances at his watch. "Cops should be called by four or five. I estimate that this will go public at dawn, just in time for the major networks to catch wind of it."

"Then you have three hours to nap and eat something before it's balls to the wall. By dawn, I want all of you out there talking to neighbors. Ask if they noticed anything suspicious for the last two days, any strange cars or people skulking around the house. Keep me apprised."

Olivia lets Harrison, Huck and Quinn pass her but when Abby moves to follow, she sweeps an arm out in front of her. "Stay with the client."

Abby's eyebrows fly up. "But I—"

"The neighbors might have seen you outside last night. We can't risk you questioning them."

"But we can risk Huck, also outside last night, questioning them," Abby fires back, quick as a whip and Olivia should've known that wouldn't work.

"Abby," she begins and doesn't get farther than that.

"_Don't_. Don't you use that patronizing speak-softly-because-the-client's-a-basket-case-right-now-tone of voice with me!" Abby's jaw is clenched tightly.

Olivia regards her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Fine. Your past experiences are creating a conflict of interest in this case and I don't want you gathering evidence while your judgment is clouded so you will stay with Senator Carlisle until I'm certain you're ready to continue. Now go bring our client a cup of coffee and see if there's anything more you can get out of her."

A nerve in Abby's temple twitches, but she nods stiffly. "Fine."

Olivia doesn't go to her office. Instead, she goes to Huck's, pulls up a chair, and puts Addison Cross's social security number into the database, resigning herself to another sleepless night. She looks up at the board above his work station and studies the snapshots of Cross, pinned next to a few of Carlisle and Quentin, their fingers brushing but not entwined.

She thinks it's only a matter of time until the photos on the board transform, become a much more well-known politician and a woman in a white jacket, kissing underneath a tree at Camp David, heads pressed together looking over national security briefs, his left hand against hers with the golden band thrown into stark relief for all to see.

Olivia swallows and, with shaking hands, records Cross's home address into her notebook despite her gut screaming protests.

Carlisle takes a long shower and falls into a fitful sleep on Harrison's office sofa by seven AM. Shortly after, Olivia receives the morning's first phone call.

"Put me on speaker and tell me what you've got."

"Turn on your TV," says Huck.

Olivia does as he says and sure enough, there on the morning news is a shot of Carlisle's house, cordoned off with yellow police tape. Officers are milling about the lawn while the detectives head inside.

"Media circus," Huck continues. "Cops got here just before sunrise and the neighbors are singing like birds for the reporters."

"What's their tune like?"

"Neighbor to the right seems to think Linda Carlisle is having an affair because of the late hours she's been keeping," Harrison responds. "Because she couldn't possibly be helping to run the country so late at night."

"Not entirely off the mark but a few years too late. Could I have something a little more substantial, please?"

"Quinn managed to charm her way past the police and talk to the neighbor directly across from Carlisle. Seems there's been a strange car parked just up the street; showed up just a few days ago."

"Please tell me there was a license plate."

"I think Quinn's getting the make and model now, but—oh, _shit_."

"What? Harrison, what?" But Olivia looks at the TV and sees a familiar figure ducking under the police tape.

"Shit," Olivia repeats.

"You see him? I don't think he's seen us," Huck says.

"Let's keep it that way. All of you get out of there now. Do what you can with the info on the car. Send Quinn and Harrison back here," she adds, because they really don't need to be privy to Huck working his back channels for information.

"Done." Huck hangs up.

Olivia stares at David Rosen's face before switching off the TV, wondering who will make it to the offices first.

Half an hour later, Olivia's trying to make herself a pathetically small breakfast of a fried egg on a toasted bagel when her phone rings again. She looks at the caller ID, turns down the gas on the stove and moves into the hallway before answering, mindful of her client's nap.

"Pope."

"What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Oh he's _pissed_. Olivia bites her lips and realizes she isn't mature enough to not have some fun with this.

"Hi, hello, how are you?"

"_Olivia_." And in that moment, Olivia thinks that if he could reach one calloused hand through the Blackberry and wrap it around her throat, he would. She considers playing innocent with him but dismisses it just as quickly; he taught her too well not to see right through it.

"You're about an hour later than I expected you to be. Please don't tell me the great Cyrus Beene found out through Good Morning America like the rest of the plebs."

"I am not in the mood for this shit today. The vote is in three days and our ace in the hole is _gone_? Have you lost your mind?"

"It sounds like you're a hair's breath away from losing yours."

"Whatever little hidey-hole you've shoved her in, you take her out," Cyrus growls. "You take her out, dust her off and send her back to the hill."

"You know, this would be a lot more intimidating if you actually had any say in what I did with my clients."

"Olivia—"

"Carlisle was _attacked_, Cyrus. Swallow your pride, put on your knee guards and set up a meeting with the minority whip," she says before hanging up.

And just because her day couldn't possibly get any worse, the elevator dings behind her. She turns around, as prepared as she could ever be for Rosen and stops dead because that's not who's climbing out of the elevator.

"Miss Quentin," is all Olivia can say while her brain shifts gears.

"What happened?" Quentin demands, nearly sprinting towards Olivia. She looks harried and pale and like she hasn't slept in days. "I—I wake up this morning and turn on the news and hear that Senator Carlisle is missing. Someone _took_ her. You were supposed to help her!" Quentin's eyes are red and her voice is loud, too loud.

Olivia snaps on and catches Quentin by the elbows. "Miss Quentin, listen to me—"

"Olivia?" She cranes her neck around to see Abby peeking her head out of the office. She tries as best she can to give Abby a loud and clear nonverbal signal to _go_, go _that_ way, make sure Carlisle doesn't move, but all she can manage is wide eyes and a swift jerk of her head.

But Abby gets it, nods, turns around and bumps right into Senator Carlisle.

Olivia's head drops. Quentin goes limp in her hands. "Oh my god."

"_Rebecca_?"

"Oh my _god_." And Olivia steps aside because really, there's no point now. She pinches the bridge of her nose and turns to watch Quentin take a few unsteady steps towards Carlisle, who is standing there at the end of the hallway looking like she's seen a ghost. Behind the senator, Abby makes a helpless face and slides away from them towards Olivia as inconspicuously as possible.

Which doesn't matter at all, because there could have been a nuclear airstrike on the greater DC area and Carlisle and Quentin wouldn't notice it.

"I thought you were kidnapped," Quentin offers sheepishly, suddenly looking much younger than her forty years.

"I was. Technically." Carlisle seems incredibly small there, in jeans and a sweater and with a giant bruise on her cheek set with butterfly stitches. She's a far cry from the woman who gave the Senate verbal whiplash less than twenty-four hours ago.

And it seems to happen between blinks but Carlisle moves forward, propelled by something more than just her own feet, and _falls_ into Quentin's arms.

Abby sidles up next to her, looks between the two of them and nods resolutely. "Donuts. We need donuts." She bumps Olivia's shoulder and all Olivia can do is sigh.

* * *

The next time the elevator dings, it's carrying Quinn and Harrison and Olivia's nerves are damn near shot for the day. She rounds on Harrison before he even steps off the lift and puts him on elevator duty. "If Rosen shows up, you stop him. I don't care if you have to strip for him, he does not cross this threshold, am I clear?"

"I can stay with Harrison and help," Quinn pipes up. "With watching for Rosen."

Harrison actually smiles. Quinn smiles back. Olivia glances between them and oh dear _god_.

"You stay," Olivia says to Harrison before taking Quinn by the elbow. "You, stop hanging out with Abby and come with me."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to relocate the two of them? Maybe to your apartment, like you did for me."

"I let you stay in my apartment because you're you." Quinn gives her a wide-eyed look and Olivia thinks, _really_, she needs to get over this hero thing. "The problem with my apartment is that David Rosen knows where I live."

"Well yeah, but he can't come barging in without a warrant—"

"He and I are at the point in our relationship where we don't let little things like the law get between our desire to be together," Olivia says, pushing the door to her office open and going around to the shelves behind her desk. "I want you to keep an eye on Carlisle's family—stepson, husband and parents. They're going to be in the center of a media hurricane and you will track everything they say. Here, this is everything Harrison collected on them when he read up on Carlisle."

"What am I looking for?" Quinn inquires, taking the files.

"Nothing. But just in case the blackmailer gets any wise ideas to go after her family, I want them on our radar so we get there first. Get to it," she says, dropping herself into her chair.

Quinn manages to get to the door before stopping and turning abruptly to face her. "What you said before, that was just a joke, right? You and David Rosen aren't—haven't…" Olivia just looks at her. Quinn takes a step back, looking rightfully mortified. "Okay."

Abby comes back with the donuts a few minutes later. "Do you know that Harrison is sitting in the hallway wearing a stupid, goofy grin on his face?"

"Yep," says Olivia, fingers flying across her keyboard.

"He's getting paid more than I am to sit in the hallway and grin?"

"You make as much as he does."

"But _I_ fetch donuts. Thank god for Lily Ledbetter." Abby pauses. "Liv. One question."

She tilts her head to regard Abby sternly. "What?"

"Are you letting Quentin stay?"

"She wouldn't still be here if I wasn't."

"Why are you letting Quentin stay?"

"I'm pretty sure I heard you say _one_ question."

"Olivia." She looks up to find Abby looking at her intently. Olivia is an idiot for thinking it wouldn't come up. And of course it's Abby bringing it to her attention, Abby who never lets anyone get away with anything.

"Because Senator Carlisle's had a hell of a night," Olivia says simply.

It doesn't completely satisfy her, but Abby gives a nod and hands her a glazed donut before going to her own office.

She returns her eyes to her Mac. She keeps her attention split on the work in front of her and what's happening on the television displays. Reporters' words blend together in a maelstrom of confusion about Senator Carlisle's whereabouts and the implication it has on the legislation to be passed or denied. The White House releases a statement to feed the networks and it's Cyrus's words coming out of the press secretary's mouth, but that sound bite dominates mid-morning and well into the afternoon. Thankfully, her phone stays silent.

Olivia isn't sure how much time has passed when a new voice breaks through the din, one that sounds achingly young and sad and her eyes fly up to the television to see a boy barely out of his teenage years standing in front of a bevy of microphones, eyes brimming with tears.

She doesn't even register what he says because it doesn't matter. Olivia almost overturns her chair in her haste; she races out of her office and jackknifes down the hall, hoping against hope that Carlisle and Quentin are too wrapped in one another to be watching the news.

The door to Harrison's office is closed but she can see through the glass that Carlisle is standing motionless in front of the TV, a hand over her mouth, eyes fixed to the young man being interviewed. Her shoulders are shaking. Quentin moves up behind her and Olivia watches them. She hasn't felt this helpless since she'd heard Quinn say _sweet baby_ to her outside Amanda Tanner's hospital room.

She feels rather than sees him approach.

"A car matching the neighbor's description was stolen from a rental company a few miles away from Dulles International," Huck reports quietly.

"Any security footage?" He nods. "Good. Go over it with Harrison."

"Is that the stepson on the TV? Lucas?" inquires Huck.

"Yeah, that's Lucas."

"It figures the vultures would go for the kid first."

They watch as Quentin sets her hands on Carlisle's shoulders, far too slim to bear the burdens they do. Carlisle leans back against Quentin's body, a silent request for strength.

"It isn't fair," Olivia murmurs, pressing her fist against her mouth. "It's Sully St. James all over again. How many other people are out there who can't be with the people they love? How many of our cases next year will be exactly like this?"

"You give me the word and I'll go after Cross."

Olivia turns to Huck to find his eyes fixed on the senator. She can't say she isn't tempted. "We don't have enough information yet, Huck."

"I can get it for you."

Gooseflesh rises at the base of her neck. Olivia keeps her expression clear and moves closer, into Huck's line of sight. It takes a long, tense moment for Huck's eyes to switch from the couple in the room to Olivia, but she waits until she has his undivided attention before speaking. "Go over the footage with Harrison. That's what I need you to do for me. Do _not_ go after Cross," she says firmly.

Even though she didn't say it, she knows that Huck heard the unspoken _yet_. He nods and walks away and Olivia breathes a little easier.

* * *

She is lying in bed decidedly not sleeping when her phone rings. It startles her and she considers letting it go for all of five seconds before twisting under the covers and fumbling on the nightstand for the receiver.

"Hi," he says and she misses the times when just hearing his voice was enough to make her day better.

"I didn't think you'd call tonight," she admits.

"Why not? Because of the Carlisle thing?"

"Someone attacked her. I had to do it, Fitz. I didn't want to and god knows she didn't want me to, but this isn't about blackmail anymore."

"You don't need to justify anything to me. The most important thing now is to keep her safe."

Olivia scoffs. "I wish your chief of staff understood that. Cyrus is probably going to spend all of tomorrow convincing the NSA that I'm a credible threat. Which is a real shame, since he and I were supposed to take a vacation together."

There's a brief moment of silence. "Cyrus? _Vacation_?"

"He's the one who suggested it. A tropical island getaway."

"Hmm, an island. Lots of water. Might be a good idea to take a Navy man along. You know, just in case."

For the first time that day, Olivia manages a smile. She sits up and leans against the headboard. "Sorry, sailor. Cyrus asked me first."

"Would the fact that I probably look better in swim trunks than he does change your mind?"

"…Possibly." And damn, that's a good thought. Fitz, all long military-toned limbs and smooth skin tanned from too much sun, covered in a sheen of sweat and sea-water, wearing wet shorts and the million-dollar smile that had teenage girls from Anchorage to Miami swooning over their commander-in-chief, padding across white sand while the ocean roared behind him, ruffling that deliciously curly hair and—

"What was that, Liv?"

"I—didn't say anything."

"Not anything intelligible, no, but I was sure I heard you make a sound." And Olivia is sure she can hear him smiling. "What are you thinking about?"

"This really nice black mesh bikini I'll be wearing while I'm on vacation." And this time, it's Fitz who makes a sound. Turnabout is indeed fair play.

Fitz sighs. "I'd ask you how work was, but I'm betting it was hell that you wouldn't care to revisit."

"You would win that bet, my friend."

"So instead, why don't you tell me something that made you happy today? Anything, even if it's small."

Olivia's fingers fiddle with the phone cord as she considers her response. An image of a hallway reunion floats into her mind. "Rebecca Quentin stormed the gate after the news broke, demanding to know why I didn't do more to protect Senator Carlisle."

"If she only knew all that you did."

"Well…she does. Carlisle saw her. They saw each other, for the first time in over a year. The looks on their faces were just…god, Fitz. Senator Carlisle just came _alive_." Olivia sighs and massages the back of her neck. "I let Rebecca stay with her in the offices. I know I shouldn't have and that it could only make matters worse, but if you had seen them together—there was no way I could've separated them. I didn't _want_ to. I know I should've but I just..."

"You just wanted to let them have a minute," Fitz finishes softly and _that_ cracks what little resolve she had left.

"I'm beginning to forget how your hair feels under my fingers," she blurts out, eyes prickling. He lets out a little breath and god, Olivia knows _that_ feeling, being blind-sided with the misery that lingers beneath all the teasing conversations and laughter. "I'm scared to death that one of these days, it's going to be me and you up there on that wall. Pictures of us, recordings of phone calls and my staff is going to have to keep me in my office while they try to clean up the mess I've made of everything."

"You haven't made a mess of anything."

"And there are some days when I think to hell with it," she continues, covering her eyes with one hand. "To hell with it all. Let it come out, let everyone find out and let it ruin my career because then at least I can live out in the open again, without having to worry or go to bed at night feeling so damn _empty_." Her voice breaks and she can feel her chest tightening and it takes every ounce of strength she possesses to get her emotions under control again.

Then, she realizes he hasn't said anything. "Fitz?" And suddenly she's on her feet, heart pounding. "Fitz, are you still there?"

"Yes." His voice is tight.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling for a car."

The words steal her breath. "No!"

"Yes."

"Fitz, listen to me. Listen to me," she demands again when he doesn't respond. "We _can't_. You can't come here, not again—"

"Do you honestly expect me to just sit here and listen to you say those things sounding like you're about to cry and not—_goddamn it_, Olivia!" There is a banging noise, so loud that it makes Olivia jump.

It's the first time he's ever raised her voice with her and it shocks Olivia just how much it frightens her. Not for what he could do or say to her, because she knows he isn't angry with her, but for all that must be going through his head to have pushed him to the brink. Fitz is like her in that regard—always calm, collected, firmly in control. To hear him so angry is fundamentally _wrong_.

She inhales deeply and adopts the tone she did to reign Huck back earlier this afternoon. "I am not about to cry. I'm fine. I just had a…" Her voice trails. She can't call it a moment of weakness because then it would imply that those feelings were momentary, infrequent and she refuses to lie to him.

"Olivia," he says and oh, the _grief_ in his voice. It breaks her heart every time she hears it but this she knows, this she can handle.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't—god, don't ever apologize. Not for that." Olivia can see him, in her mind's eye, sinking back into his chair in the Oval, face flushed, a hand covering his face, closing himself off from the world for the briefest of moments. "I hate this."

"I know."

"I hate this," he repeats vehemently. "I hate every minute that I can't be with you."

Olivia nods even though he can't see her. She waits for some of the stinging behind her eyes to go away before she speaks again. "What did you knock over?"

"A Faberge egg given to me by the Grand Duke of Luxembourg."

"Jesus Christ, Fitz!"

"Or just the paperweight Cyrus gave me after the Inauguration," he says. "You could fire a missile at that thing and not scratch it."

Olivia collapses onto her bed. "You are such an asshole."

"I need to see you, Liv. If not tonight, then soon. Very soon." He pauses. "You aren't the only one who goes to bed feeling empty."

And Olivia can't bring herself to argue with him this time. "Okay."

"Okay." He pauses and for one long, terrifying moment, Olivia thinks he'll say it. He clears his throat. "Sleep well, Liv."

She waits until the line goes dead before she lets out a single, choked sob. It is all she allows herself and after it's done, she hangs up the phone, gets under the covers again and lets her own _I love you_ resonate through her head before she closes her eyes and wills sleep to take her.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated. Life kind of got in the way. Keep the reviews coming; I love hearing from you guys!

This story is primarily Olivia-and-co-centric and was always designed to have them as the focus. There's so little attention given to them in fanfiction and to Olivia without Fitz in the picture and I feel like they're due some spotlight. HOWEVER, if you do sail the good ship Olivia/Fitz and are hoping for more of them, stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

Olivia actually manages to sleep until six. She switches on the news while she brushes her teeth. Apparently sometime over night, Adam Carlisle finally arrived back in DC. There are several shots of him being bombarded outside of Reagan National by reporters. Olivia studies his face—handsome, Carlisle's age, sandy brown hair just beginning to go gray. He, like his son, looks like he hasn't slept at all. While taking a shower, she absently thinks about what sort of explanations she can give to the husband and son when the senator finally rejoins the land of the living.

Olivia takes a detour on her way to work, deciding to swing by Carlisle's house and scope out the situation. She parks on the far corner and observes the scene through binoculars. The police tape has been removed but there are still a couple of squad cars parked along the cul-de-sac. She can see no sign of either Adam or Lucas, though she knows that by now they'd both be home. She does, however, see three journalists skulking around in parked cars far less surreptitiously than she.

Quinn is already in the offices when Olivia gets there. The coffee maker is on and Olivia can smell bacon.

"You cooked?" she asks, finding Quinn in her own office typing away on her laptop.

"God, no. If the building is not on fire, you know I didn't cook. That was Becca."

"Becca," Olivia repeats, arching an eyebrow. "Quentin has been here all night?"

"She popped out for a few to get a couple of groceries. And to buy the senator another change of clothes, but she hasn't gone home, no."

Olivia moves further down the hallway to peer into Harrison's office. Carlisle is curled up on the couch, body nestled atop Quentin's reclining form. Quentin's eyes are open and she is stroking Carlisle's hair. The author catches Olivia in the window and wiggles her fingers in greeting. Next to her, Quinn sighs.

"They are so sweet."

Olivia agrees; she's developing diabetes. The fact that they are playing house is at once both troublesome and entirely adorable. "They can't stay here," Olivia murmurs. "Rosen could pop up at any time. Anyone could, really."

Quinn hums contemplatively. "They could use my apartment for the time being. I mean, I pretty much have been living here the past week."

"Hmm." The wheels in Olivia's mind are turning. "Anything new?"

"The senator's husband flew home from Maui. He got in about nine last night, went straight to the police station. Lucas came in via Amtrak and beat him by a few hours. Carlisle's parents are arriving from Buffalo today; wheels down at eleven-thirty."

"Good. Keep an eyeball on them. Anything new with the car?"

Quinn shakes her head. "Nothing as far as I know. Huck and Harrison were here late last night, combing through the footage."

Olivia's fingers twitch at her side. They're losing ground. She glances back at Carlisle and Quentin and decides to tackle this first. "If Carlisle isn't awake by the time the others show, wake her. We've got some things to discuss."

On her way to her office, Olivia pops into the kitchenette and steals a piece of bacon. When Abby, Huck and Harrison arrive, Olivia calls them, Quentin and Carlisle into the main board room.

"We're going to have to move you, Senator Carlisle," she begins without further ado.

Carlisle glances around the room. "I don't understand."

"The people investigating your case are thorough, Senator. One of them is very familiar with my methods and the way I handle my clients and he could show up here at any time. This was only intended to be a stopgap measure; we need to find somewhere off the grid for the next few days. Problem is," Olivia continues, leaning one hip against the edge of the table and folding her arms over her chest, "I don't know exactly where to put you."

Carlisle lowers her eyes, considering the problem. So does the rest of Olivia's staff.

"A hotel is out of the question," says Harrison. "Her picture has been all over the news. We can't risk someone recognizing her."

"And delightful David Rosen knows where we all live, so stashing her at any of our places is moot at this point," Abby points out. "Not unless we wanted to play hot potato with the senator."

"We need somewhere as safe as it is unknown," Quinn adds. "In case the blackmailer tries to attack her again."

"Should we take her out of the state?" Huck suggests. "I know a couple of people in Boston who can be trusted."

"I'm not leaving DC," Carlisle says with a shake of her head. "The vote is in—"

Harrison leads towards her. "Senator, I think it might be time to consider the fact that you might not be able to be here for the vote."

Carlisle lifts her chin. "I will be here, Mr. Wright. Blackmailer or no, I _will_ be here."

Harrison gives Olivia a look. So much for being the charming one.

"Do you think Stephen and his wife could do it?" Abby asks. "God knows he owes us a few favors."

"Not secure enough." And Olivia didn't want to put Stephen in danger. He left, free and clear. She isn't going to drag him back.

Quinn twists to look back at Olivia. "The White House. Could your—connections there help?" Her voice is only a touch timid. Progress is progress, Olivia supposes.

"Anyone in the White House who could help has to go through the chief of staff," dismisses Olivia.

Quinn looks around hesitantly. "Isn't he your friend?"

"He's my arch nemesis, Quinn," Olivia says flatly.

The brunette blinks. "I'm confused."

"It's Thursday," Harrison says with a pat on her wrist.

"I've also got a man in Fairfax," interjects Huck. "Ex SEAL. It's not ideal, but he could keep her safe."

Carlisle buries her face in her hands and groans. "This is utterly ridiculous."

Quinn taps the table. "Maybe a hotel and we just smuggle her in. You know, hide her face like they do with celebrities."

"We can't risk it," Harrison insists. "We need—"

"Me." Everyone turns to look at Quentin, seated calmly next to Carlisle. "She could come to my house."

Silence. Olivia looks between them and shakes her head. "No."

"Why?" Quentin demands.

"I'm not putting you in danger," Carlisle tells the author firmly.

Olivia motions to Carlisle. "That, and your house is not secure."

"No one knows where I live, except my family, my agent and a few select friends. The information's never been published."

"That's not going to keep an enterprising individual from finding out," drawls Huck.

Olivia leans down on the table towards Quentin. "The blackmailer already knows that the two of you are involved. It isn't safe for you."

"Then how am I any safer with or without her there?" Quentin inquires and she's got Olivia there. She looks at Carlisle. "I'm already in danger just because I'm in those photos, but I haven't received any threats. This person doesn't want me, they want you. Let me help you, Linda." Quentin raises her eyes to Olivia before Carlisle can brook another protest. "Hire protection if you want to, search my home. But I think this could work and it's certainly the best option out of every one you all have presented thus far."

Olivia surveys the room. Her instinct tells her this is a bad idea for a myriad of reasons, not least of which is keeping Carlisle and Quentin together. But the suggestion has merit and it is the best option for the moment.

Pulling out a chair, Olivia lowers herself down to look levelly at Quentin. "Rebecca, if you do this, you become my client. You will have to do everything I tell you to and follow all of my instructions to the letter. No arguing."

Quentin gives a nod. "Understood."

"Before I say one way or another, I want a look at your house. Harrison and Abby are going to go over every inch of it to make sure it's safe." Olivia leans back. "Go pack. We'll be done in a few minutes."

Quentin has to take Carlisle's hand. The senator looks beyond troubled, but says nothing as they both exit the room. Harrison pulls the door closed behind them.

"I don't like this," he mutters.

"You think I do? We're coming up on twenty-four hours of _nothing_," Olivia snaps. She takes a cleansing breath. "The footage from the rental company. Anything?"

It looks like it kills him to do it, but Harrison shakes his head. "The quality is terrible. We cleaned it up as best we could but we can't make anything out beyond the fact that it's a man who jacked the car."

Olivia clenches her jaw and looks to Huck. "And the car?"

"Hasn't turned up yet," he says quietly. "Every license plate search, every traffic camera, toll booths—nothing. We only know that car hasn't left the state."

"Which means it could be on the road or at the bottom of the Potomac." Rage ignites her. Olivia stands, sets her hands on the table and sweeps the contents off if it in one, swift movement. Folders and paperwork and empty mugs of coffee go flying and clatter to the floor. Quinn flinches. "No mistakes, no more messages from the blackmailer! What the hell does he _want_ from Carlisle?" The room is silent. Olivia doesn't look at her team. Instead, she reaches for her blazer. "To hell with it."

They watch her agitatedly do up the buttons. Abby speaks first. "Where are you going?"

"Our last good lead was that damn car and the footage from the rental company. Both have yielded nothing, so I'm trying a different angle."

"What angle?"

Olivia sweeps the hair out from under the collar of the jacket. "I'm going to see Cross."

Huck takes a jilted step forward. "Olivia—"

"This is not a good idea," Harrison interrupts.

"The meter's running and we've hit a dead end."

Abby shakes her head. "Liv—"

"You and Harrison are going to get Senator Carlisle and Quentin set up. You search that place from top to bottom, every nook and cranny, the perimeter—_everything_. I swear to god, if you get even the faintest sense that someone's been there or that there are eyes on the house, you bring them straight back here and we'll think of something else."

"Fine, but Cross—"

"Abby, don't argue with me. Go, I want them there before Carlisle's parents land." Olivia watches them leave, both visibly dragging their feet, before turning to Quinn. "You sit in front of those televisions, you make calls, you scour the Internet. Anything new about the family crops up, you call me, understood?"

Quinn nods rapidly and darts away, leaving Huck in the room with Olivia. She squares her shoulders.

"I'm coming with you," he says with an unusually definitive edge in his voice.

"No, Huck. No, you aren't."

"Cross is dangerous. He has a history of violence, and you approaching him alone…"

"I'm not planning on provoking him," Olivia says and on some level, she's certain that Huck knows she's lying to him. "I need a sense of him. We're running out of options, Huck."

"Let me come with you," he says, and now it sounds like pleading. Olivia shakes her head.

"I put Abby on the bench yesterday because she was compromised, Huck. Please don't make me do the same to you." She can see the line of Huck's jaw tense, but knows it's not from anger. She moves closer to him. "I went to Billy Chambers alone and that was an actual confrontation."

"It isn't the same thing," dismisses Huck.

"Why?"

"You _know_ why," he says sharply, eyes burning. "Olivia, I'm asking you." Olivia remains silent. Huck stares her down but he's the first to lower his eyes. He does so with an almighty, defeated sigh. "Take my gun, at least."

"That…that, I will do."

"You keep your phone out," says Huck quietly. "You keep it out and keep me on speed dial. If you get a bad vibe, or if anything happens, you call me, Liv. I will come for you."

Olivia searches his face. She doesn't say anything because she doesn't need to; Huck knows. She squeezes his arm and nods towards his office.

* * *

When she's on the bridge crossing the Potomac, Olivia calls Cross's job.

"Joe & Joe Plumbing." The receptionist sounds more than a little busy.

"Yes, I was wondering if Addison Cross is working today."

"Nope. He has a shift tomorrow morning; you can leave a message if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary. Thank you." Olivia terminates the call and heads into Rosslyn proper.

Cross's street is bland and unremarkable, lined with identical single floor houses with small yards and three foot metal fences. Olivia parks her SUV a few houses down the way and waits, working out a game plan in her head. There is a truck in his drive and Olivia is certain he's home and most likely alone, given that he has no family. The street around her seems quiet and left undisturbed, the exact opposite of Carlisle's cul-de-sac.

There is movement near the front door and Olivia zeroes in on the small porch. Cross is stepping outside in a pair of worn overalls with an old-fashioned water pail in his hand. Olivia watches carefully as he takes the four steps down slowly, one at a time, balancing all the weight on his left foot as he goes. Then, he moves to the edge of the yard and begins dusting a small plot of flowers with the water.

Olivia kills the engine and slips the strap of her bag over her shoulder, far heavier than it normally is with the weight of (one of) Huck's guns. She is too frustrated to be properly anxious.

Cross looks in her direction when she slams her door. As she approaches him, he straightens up.

"Hello," Olivia says, adopting a sheepish grin.

"Good morning, ma'am." He has a thick southern accent, the good ole boy tint native only to Virginians. If he had been wearing a hat, Olivia thinks he may have tipped it towards her. "You all right?"

Olivia smooths the hair out of her face. "I'm—actually, I'm stuck. I'm trying to find a street called Melville."

Cross's brow furrows. "Can't say I've heard of that. You sure it's here in Rosslyn and not in Georgetown, across the river?"

"Pretty sure my friend said she lived in Rosslyn. She just moved out here and is clearly not good with giving directions," Olivia says ruefully.

"Clearly," Cross repeats with a chuckle. "Whelp, did you try callin' her?"

Olivia holds up her Blackberry, screen darkened. "My phone's dead. I really hate to impose, but could I ask—?"

Cross smiles and it is perfectly pleasant. "Of course, ma'am, of course. Come on in." Cross holds out an arm to beckon her forward but when Olivia approaches, he doesn't try to touch her. "I'm Addison, by the way. Everyone calls me Addy."

_Addy_, Olivia thinks, mentally raising an eyebrow. "I'm Olivia. Thank you so much for this."

"Aw, it's no trouble. The closer you get to DC, the more complicated things get. Watch your step, now."

Cross's house is clean and quaint, with few trappings and clearly broadcasting his bachelor status. His kitchen is very small and there is a kettle on the stove. "Phone's right behind you," he says, turning up the gas on the range. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," says Olivia, not planning to imbibe a single drop. She watches Cross out of the corner of her eye as she dials the number to her own cell phone, safely on silent. "Damn, she's not answering."

"Try again in a few minutes," Cross suggests. "Do you take milk and sugar?"

"Just milk. Thank you."

"G'head and make yourself comfortable, Miss Olivia." She lowers herself into the chair, eyes pinned on Cross's back. "So you're paying a visit to a friend?"

"Mmhmm. She's having a baby shower this afternoon." The lie rolls off her tongue with practiced ease. "I wanted to arrive early to help set up."

"Well now, that's nice of you. Is it her first baby?"

"Third, actually."

Cross gimps across the kitchen, kettle in hand. "Third baby. Wow. I envy your friend; I always wanted a house full of children." Olivia is certain to look attentive when he glances at her from over his shoulder. "But things didn't quite work out for me. My own fault, really." He pours the tea neatly and then hands her the mug. "You have any kids of your own, Miss Olivia?"

"No." She pauses and decides to offer him a small truth. "But I want them, someday." She notices him wincing as he pushes away from the counter. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some help with that?"

"Aw, don't you worry about this old leg of mine. It's an injury I got back when I was young and stupid. I get around all right. It's only real bad at night." He settles into the chair opposite of her and blows to cool his tea. "So what is it you do, ma'am?"

"I'm a lawyer."

Cross whistles. "Very impressive, Miss Olivia. I never did have the smarts for school. But I'm handy; can fix most anything."

Olivia sips at her tea, not really drinking, and forces herself to think about Cross pinning down a college student and lowering himself on her. The two images war in her head and Olivia is beginning to realize that she should have trusted her gut all along.

An idea comes to her. "Do you keep up with the news, by chance? I've been on the road for the last few days but I caught more reports about that missing senator in my hotel room last night. Do you know if anything new has been discovered this morning?"

Cross lowers his tea. "Oh, Senator Carlisle? Nothin' new since last night." He shakes his head and contemplates his mug. "It ain't right, a woman bein' dragged out of her house in the dead of night. I'm keeping her in my prayers."

Olivia stares at him and licks her lips. "You're a religious man, Mr. Addison?"

"Oh yes ma'am, very." He looks up. "God saved me. I was headin' down a bad path when I was a kid and ever since I found Him, I've been trying to turn my life around. I go to church every weekend, and on Tuesday nights for Bible study."

Olivia nods, and then pushes back from the table. "I guess I should try my friend again." This time, when she dials her cell, she pretends someone is on the other end. When she hangs up, she schools her expression into triumph and turns to Cross, who's smiling. "Crisis averted. Seems I took a wrong turn a few roads back."

"Good! Let me walk you out." Once they are on the porch again, Cross gives her a nod. "Drive safely, Miss Olivia. Tell your friend that I'll be praying for her and for that baby of hers."

Olivia climbs into her SUV, watches Cross gather his pail again, then throws the car in reverse. She waits until she's a few blocks away, parks again, and takes out her cell phone.

"Where are you?" Even though there is a tinny quality through the cell phone, the tightness in Huck's voice is clear.

"Mulberry and 3rd. Take Cross off the list."

There's a beat of silence. "Come again?"

"Cross isn't responsible for this. I think…" Olivia takes a breath. "I think he's being framed."

"_What_?"

Olivia opens her mouth to reply, but her phone chimes. She pulls it away and sees an incoming call. "Huck, hold on. I need to take this," she says before switching over. "Hello?"

"Is this Olivia Pope?" The voice is young and female.

"Depends."

"Miss Pope, my name is Alissa Townsend. Do you remember me? I work in the US Attorney's office as David Rosen's assistant." Olivia's gut clenches. _Fuck_. "I'm calling on his behalf. He would like you to come in for a meeting this afternoon, if possible."

"I'm busy," she says, fingernails digging into the steering wheel.

"He said you would say that. Mr. Rosen would like you to come anyway. One o'clock sound all right?"

"_No_."

"Wonderful," Alissa chirps. "Thank you, Miss Pope. Have a good day!"

Olivia stares at her phone for a moment before remembering the other line. "Huck?"

"Olivia, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Fine," she says with false cheer. "Have Abby and Harrison called?"

"Yeah, everything's still green. It looks like Quentin's place will fit the bill. Olivia," Huck repeats. "What about Cross? What did he do?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Olivia's mind jolts back to ten minutes previously, his every movement and word and gesture still clear in her mind. "It wasn't him, Huck."

"How do you—?"

"I _know_." Olivia runs a hand through her hair.

"Olivia. What is going _on_?" Huck's tone is even.

"He limps," says Olivia. "He limps hard. He couldn't even put all his weight on his right leg and says it's worse at night. Climbing through a broken window without slipping, mounting a woman on the ground—there's just no way."

"He could be lying."

"He'd have no reason to, not to some random stranger he invited into his home for tea."

Huck lets out a breath. "You went into his house? Alone?"

"_Focus_, Huck! He limps and it's an old injury, probably something that happened in prison. He goes to Bible study on Tuesdays, which would put him there the night Carlisle was attacked. When I mentioned Carlisle, there was _nothing_, nothing but vague concern and a promise to pray for her. He didn't do it, Huck."

"And you think somebody is making it look like he did," Huck hedges. "Liv. Cross was there at the courier's office."

"I know."

"Are you saying that he was just a proxy? Something to throw us off the trail this whole time?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But this isn't right. This whole thing isn't right. Cross may be playing some part in this but he did _not_ attack Senator Carlisle."

There is silence on the line while Huck processes it and Olivia wills him to understand, to see what she sees. There's something missing, something they're all missing, and they're running out of time.

"Tell me what you want," Huck says and Olivia closes her eyes.

"Okay. Okay, I need you to reverse gears. Everything we have on Cross, go over again, but this time look at who he associates with. Co-workers, members of his church, friends—everybody. When I come back to the offices, I want it to literally look like six degrees of separation in there. Find me someone with a motive, someone who knows Cross well enough to make this work. Get me an alibi, something to prove he was at Bible study the night Carlisle was attacked."

"Davis. Oliver Davis, the other one at the courier," Huck clarifies. "We looked into each of them and all their connections, but the one thing we didn't look for—"

"—is a connection between the two of them," Olivia finishes, heart pounding. "Huck…"

"I'm on it. I'll get the others up to speed when they get back."

Olivia slowly lowers the phone. The footage of Davis and Cross replays in her mind, the two of them coming from different directions, entering and leaving mere seconds apart. It didn't occur to her before to consider the possibility that they could be more than individual suspects. They could be accomplices.

She turns the key in the ignition and speeds back to DC.

* * *

"Hi, Miss Pope," Alissa Townsend says in greeting. "Mr. Rosen's taking a call right now. Have a seat."

Olivia bites the inside of her cheek and moves towards one of the chairs in his waiting area. Bastard did this on purpose. She studies his assistant. Olivia has seen Alissa Townsend before, but she has never really stopped to take a good look at her. She has to be in her mid-twenties and a law student and she's already bearing the markings of standard Rosen grooming. Poor thing.

"So what does David have you do?" Olivia inquires.

"Anything that strikes his fancy," Alissa replies without looking away from her computer. Her fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Filing? Data entry? Brainstorming?"

"All of the above. Also, runs to Starbucks. It's a full service job."

Olivia nods. "Did he feed you a line about up-and-comings having to pay their dues?"

Alissa's fingers pause. She peers around her monitor to look Olivia in the eye. "And if he did?"

"Well he lied. He just likes the toadying." Olivia fishes in her purse and extracts one of her business cards. "If you ever get tired of fetching his soy milk lattes, come by my office. It's a Candyland for anyone who has an eye for the law. Even up-and-comings."

Alissa takes the card gingerly, as if half-expecting it to explode. "Are you giving this to me because you're honestly interested or are you just trying to stick it to Mr. Rosen?"

Olivia tilts her head and smiles. "Can't a girl have her cake and eat it too?"

Alissa returns the smile and contact is made. Somewhere behind the waiting area, a throat clears. "Olivia? Stop trying to seduce my assistant and come in here, please."

Olivia stands and brushes imaginary lint off her trousers. "Candyland," she repeats solemnly before heading towards Rosen's office.

She finds him with his legs crossed and feet propped up on his desk, phone balanced between his shoulder and cheek. Both of his hands are occupied trying to open a fun-size bag of Ruffles.

"Yes, very good sir. You'll have it on your desk by Monday morning. Yes, you too." Rosen lets the phone slide down his shoulder, catches it deftly and places it in its holder. The Ruffles bag pops open and he nods towards the chair in front of his desk. "Olivia. It's been too long."

"Oh, not nearly long enough," she says airily, sitting down.

Rosen pointedly takes a large bite out of a chip. "Come on, you haven't missed me even a little bit?"

"This may come as a shock to you, but my time is incredibly valuable and I don't waste it sitting around thinking about you."

"You ever thought about a career in movies?" Rosen asks lightly, popping another potato chip into his mouth. The non sequitur almost gives her whiplash. "Set production and design. You've got a real knack for it, between this and the Gideon Wallace thing."

Oh. Of course. Olivia recovers quickly enough to arch an eyebrow. "If I switched careers, then I'd be depriving you of my company and I know how that'd break your heart."

"You know, I was going to tell you how I found out the scene at Carlisle's house was fake but now, I don't think I will." Rosen slides his feet off the desk and rocks his chair back into an upright position. "You're losing your touch, Liv."

The theme of the week. "What is it you want, David?"

"The same thing I always want: the truth. Justice. And I can get them with the full power of the law behind me."

"You don't have the law behind you, not this time. All you have are flimsy suspicions and nothing concrete to back them up and you are officially crossing into wasting-my-time territory so _again_, what is it you want?"

Rosen studies her face in silence. Then, he licks his lips and tilts his head, adopting his patented going-in-for-the-kill-expression. "Have you met the stepson yet? He's had to take a leave of absence from school. Senator Carlisle is his hero and the only mother he's known since his biological mom died when he was a kid. I know you caught that bit on the afternoon news circuit."

Olivia is slightly insulted that Rosen assumed that tactic would work. "As Senator Carlisle is my client, it's in my interest to reunite her with her family."

"Maybe we could hold the reunion at your offices?"

"And that would be conducive if Senator Carlisle was actually there, but she isn't."

"No, she wouldn't be. Not now. But I know she was and I know that wherever she is, you're doing your damnedest to keep her safe. But you're running out of time." Rosen stands and looks around. "I want you to savor this moment, Olivia Pope, because it will probably never come again. But…I want to help you." Olivia stares at him. Rosen rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet and sucks his teeth. "I know. Strange, huh?"

It takes Olivia a minute before she can jerk herself out of her stupor, but when she does she dips her hand inside her bag, finds her Blackberry and hits the button for speed-dial.

"Beene."

"You son of a bitch," Olivia snarls. Rosen's eyebrows jump.

"Well hello, Miss Pope. Fine day, isn't it? All sunny and blue. Damn fine."

"What the hell did you _do_, Cyrus?"

"What ever are you talking about, walnut?"

"I am standing in the office of the US Attorney's equivalent of Robin Hood and he's offering me his bow for Carlisle!"

"I do love a good pair of tights," says Rosen conversationally.

"Shut _up_. No, not you, Cyrus. _You_ will tell me right now what you did and—"

"My concern for a prominent senator led me to make sure all resources that the government is afforded be used in getting her back. And seeing as how the US Attorney's office was trying to play poker without a full deck—"

"How much did he tell you?" Olivia demands. Rosen purses his lips and Olivia swears to god, if he smiles right now she will slap him.

"You and Rosen play nice, now," Cyrus says just before the jarring dial tone sounds. Olivia resists the urge to throw her phone through Rosen's window.

"If it's any consolation, I'm about as excited about this as you are," says Rosen.

"It's not any consolation and there is no _this_. I have a client and a case to get back to."

"_We_ have a client and a case. Technically. Hey, I tried to level with you earlier," Rosen states, holding out his hands.

Olivia grits her teeth. "I didn't know you were so easily bought."

"Oh I'm not," replies Rosen. "My boss is, though, as much as I hate to admit that. But there was no auctioning off this time. There aren't any laws being broken."

"Conspiracy against the American people?"

"Carlisle's in a makeshift witness protection program," Rosen says.

"Seriously? That's what you're going with?"

He shrugs. David Rosen _shrugs_. "There are a total of three people in this department who know what's going on. My superior, her superior and me. It's going to stay that way. And no, not because of anything coming out of the White House, so don't even look at me like that," Rosen adds when her expression twists. "The less people know about this, the better we can work."

"And this doesn't ruffle your righteous little feathers, working under the table?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" Rosen takes a few steps closer to her and leans in conspiratorially. "I'm not as much of a white knight as you think I am."

"Yes you are."

Rosen blinks, straightening. "Yeah, okay, so I am. But we're on the same side this time, Olivia. No resistance, no counterpoint, just simple cooperation. I want to see Senator Carlisle back in her seat as much as you do, and I want whoever's behind this brought to justice. Let me help you. Or," he continues slowly, "I can go back to my boss and tell her that you refuse to cooperate and we should put the full force of the office into investigating Senator Carlisle's disappearance ourselves. Which would just make both of our lives more complicated at this point. Your choice: you and me and a relatively fuck-up free arrangement, or the US Attorney's office being crammed down your throat."

Olivia considers Rosen. She is seething inside. "You're enjoying this."

Rosen does smile, then. "I see why you like it so much. It is fun, having all the chips."

Olivia wants nothing more than to turn on her heel and tell him to bring it, but one doesn't work in politics without learning how to set aside pride at some point and as much as it kills her, she finally nods.

"My offices. Three o'clock."

"Why not now?"

"Because I said three o'clock," she snaps. "You are _helping_, not running the damn show."

"Whatever you say, boss," Rosen says with less sarcasm than she would have given him credit for and the fact that he seems to be reasonable and acquiescent about all this just _burns_ her.

Olivia stalks out of his office. She swears she can hear him laughing before she rounds the corner.

* * *

The clock is just chiming two when Olivia returns to Pope & Associates.

"Give me an update on the turtle doves," Olivia calls as she strides inside.

Harrison's head is the first to pop out from his office. "Abby and I got them settled in. Swept the place twice and found absolutely nothing. They should be okay for a few hours at least, till we can get someone in there to keep watch."

Abby appears at her side, startling her. Olivia wishes she wouldn't do that. "Where have you been? Huck said something about Cross being innocent and that he and Davis may be working together?"

"I was summoned and we'll talk Cross later," Olivia replies summarily, slipping her blazer off. As she passes by Huck's office, she beckons him to follow her.

"But Cross—"

"Abby, I said _later_. Quinn! My office!"

"You were summoned?" Harrison repeats. "Summoned by whom?"

"Batman. Quinn," Olivia says, finding the brunette hot on her heels, "all those files I gave you on the senator's family? I need copies of them within the next hour. Abby, I need you to do the same with everything you dug up on Cross and Harrison, same thing with your files on Davis. Huck, anything incriminating in your office—actually, anything incriminating on this entire floor—I need you to shut down or stash away."

Olivia tosses the blazer on the back of her chair with one hand and her purse on the desk with the other. She turns to find four pairs of eyes peering at her from the threshold to her office. "Now?"

"What's going on?" Quinn asks plaintively and oh yes, Olivia definitely needs to keep her away from Abby.

"In about an hour, we're going to be having a meeting with an agency outside of this one on the Carlisle case."

"And when you say outside agency, you mean David Rosen?" inquires Abby incredulously. "He can't just come in here and demand—"

"No demands were made. Fifty-eight minutes, people."

Nobody moves. "We're working with David Rosen? _Willingly_?" Harrison clarifies.

"The vote is the day after tomorrow and we're no closer to figuring this out. The more heads we get in on this—"

"_David Rosen_," Abby says, eyebrows trying their damnedest to kiss her hairline.

Olivia, very pointedly, sets her hands on top of her desk. "Have I ever—_ever_—given any of you the impression that there were lengths I wouldn't be willing to go to, to help my clients? I have bent the law for you and I have broken the law for you," she adds, looking directly at Quinn. "Doing things our way has its advantages, but it also has its limitations. Having Rosen's resources behind us on this not only opens avenues we don't have access to but it also expedites the process."

"And muddies the waters legally," Harrison points out.

The simple answer to that, of course, is that all laws of the United States tremble before the might of one Cyrus Beene, but Olivia has to bite her tongue. "David and I have an understanding as far as this is concerned."

"Right. An understanding. Because that doesn't sound sketchy at all."

"Less mouth, more work," she says. When they still don't move, Olivia sighs and tries diplomacy. "Guys…level with me. It's just Rosen, not his whole office. There's nothing illegal about this case and if he can help…trust me."

Those are Olivia's magic words, they always have been. Huck, of course, is the first to nod. Quinn follows and, rolling her eyes, Abby takes off next. Harrison lingers.

Olivia searches for words to reassure him but Harrison just shakes his head. "Be careful, Liv."

Her purse buzzes. Olivia unearths her Blackberry and finds a text message waiting for her.

_ Wanna borrow my knee guards? -Cy_

This time, Olivia does throw her phone.


	5. Chapter 5

Seven minutes before three, Olivia's phone rings. She has to walk across the room and pick it up from where it lay on the ground near the window. Totally undamaged. Sadly.

The number is private. Olivia's eyes widen and she double checks the clock even though she's fully aware of the time. She shoves her office door closed and answers the call in a fierce whisper.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well," he says slowly, "if I had to venture a guess…placing a phone call?"

Perfect, he's in a _mood_. Olivia runs a hand over her face and leans against the wall. "For Christ's sake, it's three o'clock in the afternoon."

"The sun's down in Beirut," he points out.

Olivia tilts her head towards the phone, unable to keep the pure annoyance out of her voice. "Are you _in_ Beirut, Fitzgerald?"

"See, this is why I called. I knew when I saw Cyrus strutting around here smirking that something was up."

"You shouldn't have called. We don't _do_ this, not in daylight."

"Yet you picked up anyway," he returns evenly and _god_, Olivia wants to rip his hair out some days. "What's going on, Liv? What'd Cyrus do?"

"Undermined my authority and stole Christmas from the Whos and before you even go there, because I _know_ you will," Olivia adds with a quickness, "you do not confront him about this. This is between me and him and this has nothing to do with you so don't get in between."

"Me? Between you and Cy? Liv, I would sell _tickets _if I could."

"I'm sorry—why are you calling me again? Because if you're trying to diffuse something or make me feel less homicidal, you are failing spectacularly."

There's a pause. "Homicidal, huh?"

"I have a gun in my Marc Jacobs satchel."

"How very James Bond of you. Seriously, Liv," he continues, his tone transforming between heartbeats. "I've got people following the Carlisle thing, too. I know there's been nothing new. I know you're frustrated and that whatever Cyrus has done has only made matters worse. And I know that I'm breaking a cardinal rule, calling when the sun is still out. But I had to tell you."

"What?" she says warily, her heart dropping.

"That you aren't alone." And all the breath leaves her body in a silent _whoosh_. "You can do anything. You are the most amazing person I've ever known. You make magic for a living and you can _do_ this, Liv."

Olivia runs her tongue over her top lip and ducks her head, shoulders going slack against the wall. "Okay. Okay."

"But I'd definitely ditch the gun. Even though the thought of you handling a gun is..."

"Sexy?" she offers.

"I was going to say scary."

"Liar. You are such a Republican."

"Be strong, sweet baby. I believe in you." Like always, Fitz lets the silence stretch for a second before he hangs up, filling it with all the little things they both wish they could say to each other.

Olivia lowers the phone and inhales. She hates herself for it but in that moment, hearing his voice was exactly what she needed. Olivia tucks her phone in her pocket and gathers her blazer.

Out in the hall her team has assembled, eyes collectively fixed to the door. The clock on the wall above the board room reads 2:57.

"Guys," she says, "it's David Rosen, not Kim Jong-Il."

"I could take Kim Jong-Il," says Harrison. "We wouldn't be getting in bed with Kim Jong-Il."

"We're not getting in bed with David Rosen, either."

Harrison snorts and casts Olivia a dark look. "Then why the hell do I feel like I should be wearing a feather boa?"

"Because you have unspoken issues and that's one of many?" Abby suggests.

Olivia nods at Quinn. "Anything new with the family?"

"Senator Carlisle's parents landed on time," Quinn says, shaking her head. "They're staying with her husband and stepson. Makes it easier on us, anyway."

"And I'm working on Cross," adds Huck. "I filled everyone in as best I could."

"Good," she says with a nod. "I'll explain more as soon as—"

The elevator dings. The five of them are standing stock still when Rosen pushes open the front door. His eyes dance over them all and land on Olivia.

"Permission to cross enemy lines, or am I to be shot on sight?"

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Just come in."

It takes them a little over a half hour to get Rosen up to speed. He listens attentively while they retrace their footsteps and go over each angle of what they found, pacing around the room and stopping every now and again to stare up at the board.

"So…Senator Carlisle is being blackmailed and the two potential suspects are Cross and Davis and they could be working with each other," he summarizes. "We have an APB out on a suspicious vehicle seen around Carlisle's neighborhood."

"Stolen from a rental company, yes." Rosen comes to stand next to her in front of the board. Olivia scratches her scalp. "There's someone behind this pulling the strings."

"Someone in Congress. That's what you were thinking, yes?" Olivia nods. Rosen considers the board for a minute."I could get background on all the Congress members who oppose the bill and cross reference them with members who actively dislike Carlisle."

"We don't have that kind of time," Harrison says. "Not if we want to get Carlisle back on the hill in two days."

"If Cross doesn't know anything, then Davis must. We need to talk to him," Huck states.

Abby scoffs. "Screw 'if Cross doesn't know anything'. It's too convenient—we need more from him too. I'm sorry, Liv, I trust your gut, but—"

"It never hurts to be thorough," Olivia finishes.

"Yes. Even if they aren't directly responsible for Carlisle's attack, they both have to know more. They might even know each other."

"Or not. They didn't arrive or leave the courier's office together, after all." Quinn points out.

"Yes, sweet pea. That's called _coordinating_ and people who plan to break the law are usually good at it." Abby's tone is oily. "I still say they know each other."

Huck is typing away at his lap top. "I'm looking into both of them for possible connections but I haven't found anything yet. They live in completely different area codes and one is a white collar social climber and the other is a quiet, simple tradesman."

"There has to be something there," Olivia insists, staring up at the images of Cross and Davis. This is all taking too long and Harrison is right—they are running out of time. Olivia straightens up. "I want them both in here," she announces. "Huck, Abby—you two go after Davis. Pretend to be representing those he discriminated against with awarding loans. If he squabbles, tell him you can come back with the police and an arrest warrant."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rosen shake his head.

"Quinn, I want you and Harrison to bring Cross here," Olivia continues.

"What should we say to him?" Quinn asks.

Olivia tongues the corner of her lip and shakes the hair out of her face. "Say…Sarah Delaney. He'll come."

"So you're going to harass our only two suspects?" Rosen inquires baldly once Olivia's team takes their leave. "This is good strategy."

"The vote is in two days."

"Is it more important than making sure Carlisle isn't attacked again and that the photos of her and Quentin stay under wraps?"

"Not according to her, no. And as it's her I work for, hers is the only opinion that matters." He shakes his head again and Olivia sighs. "Looking through Congress for the mastermind could take weeks, David. Right now we have two people who we know will be able to give us information, with a little prodding."

"Prodding," he repeats with a sidelong look. Olivia rolls her eyes. "But you don't think it was Cross who attacked Senator Carlisle."

"No. Not unless Meryl Streep is coaching him with his acting."

"And do you have some basis for this, or is this another one of those Spidey-sense things?"

"He says he attends church every Tuesday evening and you and I are going to investigate this alibi, oh ye of little faith."

In the elevator, Olivia places a call directly to Quentin's cell phone. It takes a few rings for her to pick up, making Olivia's nerves bristle. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." Quentin sounds breathless. Olivia doesn't want to know. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Your—protection—seems quite dedicated."

"Are you watching the news?"

Quentin makes a sad sound. "Yeah. I can't get her away from it, not since word that her parents landed earlier. Anything new on your end?"

"We're working on a couple of things. We'll check in again tonight."

"Good luck, Miss Pope."

Olivia exchanges the phone for her keys as the elevator dips to the garage level. Rosen is hot on her heels as she strides towards her SUV.

"Who was that?" Rosen inquires innocently. Olivia studiously ignores him and clicks the button to unlock the car. "Just for future reference," he continues, pulling open the passenger side door, "the law enforcement officers of the DC metropolitan area are extremely competent."

"That's debatable," Olivia says with a snort, "but I assume there's a point you're trying to make?"

"Faking a kidnapping to protect Senator Carlisle was unnecessary. Beyond unnecessary. Superfluous even. Letting police and investigators in on what was happening would have been wiser and might have helped you in the long run."

"Oh, please," she drawls, shooting him an incredulous look. "Try to remember who you're talking to. Staging a kidnapping had to be done to flush out the blackmailer."

"I see." Rosen tilts his head. "How's that working out for you?"

Olivia, counting to ten in her head, turns the engine on and pulls out of the parking space.

"I'm serious here, Olivia. You went through all of this trouble and broke—"

"Bent."

"All right, _bent_ the law—almost out of shape, mind you—to try to smoke out whoever's behind this and it hasn't gotten you anywhere. Which means whoever's behind this is too smart for your cat and mouse games."

Olivia is unspeakably close to letting out a stream of words in a tone that would make even Cyrus shrink back when Rosen's phone rings. He fidgets in his seat to get to his pocket.

"David Rosen." There is a long silence which Olivia uses to get her anger back under control and head out of the garage. When Rosen makes a spluttering sound, her eyes dart over to him. "That…you sure? And his name is—and he said…okay. Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes." She watches as Rosen drops the phone, looking somewhat stunned.

"Oh good, am I dropping you off somewhere?" she asks, barely able to contain her glee at this turn of events.

As they emerge from the garage, the afternoon sun strikes the windshield, bathing them both in light. Rosen looks especially pale. "Yeah. The precinct."

He really looks pale. Olivia is beginning to get concerned. "You're gonna have to start breathing here soon, David. What happened?"

His eyes close and his head drops just slightly. "A few minutes ago, a man showed up to the precinct to turn himself over to the police for breaking and entering a house. Says he's being framed for kidnapping."

Olivia's eyes dart from the road to Rosen. The smile creeps onto her face, impossible to repress. "Well, how about that. And what was this man's name?"

Rosen mutters something. Olivia leans closer. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I _said_ his name is Oliver Davis and you are the most evil woman on the planet," Rosen snaps.

Olivia positively trills. "Fancy that."

"Olivia—just don't."

It really is cute, how he thinks he can order her around. "What was that you were saying about my tactics not working?" she asks sweetly.

"Shut up."

"Meow," Olivia says, grinning. She changes lanes. "Why don't you give Abby a call, hmm? I'd do it myself, but I'm driving. And call me boss again, I liked that."

"Give me your damn phone, Satan."

* * *

Olivia had registered on some level, when looking at photos of him, that Oliver Davis is a handsome man, tanned, with a perfect goatee and dark eyes. Casually attractive in an offhand sort of way, the sort of way that usually made Olivia do a double take.

Oliver Davis is not handsome now, sitting in an interrogation room in a rumpled suit that he's probably had on since yesterday, longish hair greasy with a sickeningly yellow pallor to his face.

"I broke into her home but I didn't kidnap her," he insists with wild eyes to the detective asking the questions. Olivia observes from behind the one way glass while Rosen talks with a colleague in the corner of the room.

"That's about the ninth time he's said that. Lies, of course," the colleague says in a matter-of-fact way.

Olivia manages to tear her eyes away from Davis to cast Rosen a pointed look over her shoulder.

_ Extremely competent my ass. _

"Then where is she?" the investigator inside asks.

"I don't know," Davis moans, burying his face in his hands. "I broke in and I roughed her up a little but that was all! I left her there, I swear to god. I didn't take her. You have to believe me!"

"We don't have to do anything, Mr. Davis," the investigator snaps and Olivia resists the urge to bang her head on the glass.

"They aren't asking the right questions," she calls to Rosen. "I want five minutes."

"Absolutely not," Rosen says flatly.

"We're partners in this, remember? I let you play in my yard, you let me play in yours."

Rosen makes a wild sound. "Do you know how many times they could throw the book at me for even letting you in here?"

Inside the interrogation room, round two has just begun. The investigator bangs his hands on the table, making Davis jump. "You kidnapped Linda Carlisle!"

"I didn't do it!"

"Do you hold amateur hour here every afternoon or am I getting a special show?" Olivia asks of Rosen's colleague, who glares at her. She returns her focus to Rosen. "The only reason you have him in custody right now is because of me. Five minutes, then I'll take my ball and go back to my firm and focus on Cross."

"Do you know how long you are going to be in prison for the abduction of a government official?"

Davis is starting to cry. "_I didn't do it_! I swear, I swear on my life, on my mother's life, I had nothing to do with her disappearing!"

"Seriously, David," says Olivia, watching the show through the glass, "if he has a nervous breakdown and is too hysterical to tell us anything, I'm blaming you. While you're standing there, though, could you get me some popcorn?"

Rosen curses.

"Sir?" his colleague hedges.

"Out. And get O'Malley out of there, too. Now!" Olivia spins to face him. His expression is deadly serious. "At four minutes and fifty-nine seconds, you are out. Clear?"

Olivia waits a full minute after Investigator O'Malley leaves the room before moving. She pulls open the door to find Davis still hunched over in his chair, shoulders shaking. Olivia pushes the door closed behind her, pulls up the chair opposite and drops herself gracelessly in it.

"Hi, Oliver." A reddened face appears between twitchy fingers. "Seems you've gotten yourself into a bit of a jam." Olivia reaches for the pitcher of water and pours a glass.

"I didn't kidnap the senator," he whimpers.

"I know," she replies, pushing the glass towards him.

His eyes widen. "…w-what?"

"I know you didn't kidnap the senator. You broke into her house between ten and eleven PM two nights ago, crawled in through a window in her living room and attacked her."

"Yes," he moans. "But I swear, I didn't—"

"I got that," Olivia cuts in. "What I want to know is who sent you to attack her." Oliver stare at her. She can imagine that just behind the darkened window, Rosen's colleagues are probably turning to him with disbelieving expressions. "Because that's why you're here, isn't it? Whoever it is you're working for isn't very happy with you because it wasn't the plan to kidnap Senator Carlisle, only to scare her. And since she's turned up missing, your boss thinks you screwed up the job somehow and that can't make things good for you. He probably threatened you, threatened to expose all the underhanded things you've done at United Funds, discriminating against minorities and homosexuals. I'm sure he threatened your wife, too. Stop me when I'm getting warm, by the way."

Davis isn't yellow anymore, he's white as a sheet. Olivia waits. He licks his cracked lips, visibly shaking in his chair. "Levi Roman." Olivia has to be careful to control her reaction. "That's what he calls himself. Levi Roman. I don't know who he is."

"And how did Mr. Roman contact you?"

"Emails, at first. Then phone calls. He said he knew what I was doing at United Funds, that he had proof and he would ruin me if I didn't do exactly what he said."

"And what did he tell you to do?"

"He gave me an envelope. It just showed up on my desk."

Olivia frowns. "What was inside?"

"No, that's just it. Just an envelope. An empty envelope." He draws in a rattling breath. "I was to take it the courier's office south of Dupont and meet a man there who would give me the contents for it. So I did as I was told and sure enough, there was a man there—about my height, with a beard. He had a folder with him, a sealed folder. We put the folder in the envelope, sealed it and he addressed it while I wrote down the contact info Roman gave me."

Olivia leans forward. "What was the man's name?"

Davis shrugs helplessly. "I don't know, I've never seen him before. He was friendly enough, said hello and didn't ask any questions, just went about his business. He left first after we were done, told me to have a blessed day." Davis laughs a watery laugh. "It seemed so simple, so stupid. Go to the office at an exact time, leave at an exact time. I knew there had to be more to it, but I thought it was over with after that. Then, Levi Roman called me and said my work wasn't done."

"And he had you break into Carlisle's house?"

Davis nods, miserable. "Expressed clothing over to me while I was at the office, for god's sake."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"Just scare her. Knock her around. Call her a dyke." Davis buries his face in his hands again. "I'm so sorry. I could've lost my job and my wife has medical bills, we couldn't—"

"Have you heard from Mr. Roman since?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I had to call him after to tell him the job was done. And then, yesterday morning, when the news broke out…I was scared to death." Olivia can't bring herself to feel any pity for him. Davis sniffs. "I tried to go about my day like everything was okay and then…then I got an email, this morning. Two words: 'you're dead'." A hand shoots out and catches Olivia's wrist before she can wrench it away. "You have to protect my wife! You have to get her somewhere safe, please!"

The door behind her bursts open and Rosen is there, pulling Davis back. Davis, who is wailing with tear-stained cheeks. While a couple of uniformed officers get him under control, Olivia slips out of the room, catching her breath.

"You okay?" Rosen asks.

She nods. She isn't scared; adrenaline is rushing through her in waves. Finally, something. She's getting somewhere. "We need to talk to Cross. He might know more than Davis."

Rosen nods. "I can't bring him in. If what Davis said is true, we have nothing on him."

"I got it. I'll handle it."

"I'll keep at it with Davis. You call me after you talk to him and we'll compare notes."

"Will do," she says without arguing. She tilts her head in the direction of the interrogation room. "I'd definitely have someone keep an eye on the wife. Levi Roman must be getting desperate. And try to keep the press off the scent for as long as you can."

"No shit."

Before she even makes it out of the station, Olivia is dialing Quinn's number. "Did you get him?" she demands the moment she picks up.

"Yes, but he's not happy."

"Keep him there. I'll be back in ten minutes."

* * *

Quinn is waiting for her by the elevator when she arrives, smoothing down her steel gray pencil skirt.

"Abby and Huck say Davis turned himself in?" she asks, jumping to keep up with Olivia's lightning-fast pace into the offices.

"Yep. Where is he?"

"We put him in Harrison's office. He isn't saying or doing much. He's….eerily calm. Didn't fight or argue, just came with us."

"Good. Tell Harrison I need him to go through Davis's emails and look for anything from Levi Roman. Have Huck see if he can get a handle on security cameras in United Funds; Davis got two deliveries there from the blackmailer. I want you and Abby to go to Quentin's house and get them up to speed."

Olivia doesn't even bother to stop and get a look at the figure hunched on Harrison's couch before she pulls the door open. Cross shoots to his feet and his expression goes blank when he sees her. Recognition creeps in.

"You. Olivia?"

"Olivia Pope."

Cross is at a loss for words. He looks around and swallows. "You weren't lost."

"No. I'm a crisis manager and I was investigating you as a possible suspect for the assault and abduction of Senator Linda Carlisle," she says calmly, lowering herself into Harrison's desk chair.

It takes Cross another minute to digest this. "And," he says, "you couldn't have just asked me?"

Olivia snorts, she can't help it. "In my profession, that isn't the first idea that comes to mind. Any sort of direct questioning had to be done on my grounds in safety."

"So, you tell your staff to coerce me by bringing up painful memories from my past mistakes?" Olivia doesn't respond, but the level look she gives him says it all. _Boo-hoo._ Cross makes a bitter noise before sitting back down on the couch. "Any means necessary, huh?"

"I needed to bring you here and as you are a suspect, I couldn't tell you the whole truth. I used what I had in my arsenal."

"I didn't have anything to do with Senator Carlisle," says Cross. "Truthfully, I had never even heard of the woman until yesterday mornin'."

"The second part I believe. The first part, I don't. Does the name Levi Roman mean anything to you?" she continues before Cross interrupts. He shakes his head. "Last Saturday, you visited a courier's office south of Dupont Circle to have something sent to Capitol Hill."

A strange look comes over Cross's face. "Is that what this is all about?"

Olivia recovers her phone, scrolls through her camera reel and selects a photograph. She holds it out for Cross to see: a photo of Davis she surreptitiously snapped in the police station. "Did you meet with this man?"

"Yes," Cross says slowly. "I don't understand."

"This is the man who broke into Carlisle's home."

"I…God. I had no idea."

"Who gave you the folder to take to the courier's office, Mr. Cross?"

"Deacon Mosby," says Cross, brow furrowed. "It was a favor. He knew I was coming into town on Saturday to pick up some spare parts for work and he asked me to meet with his friend and send the envelope off for him."

"Mosby."

"Earl Mosby. But I don't think that he—"

"It didn't strike you as strange, that you were given the sealed folder without a proper envelope? That you had to meet someone at the courier's office to complete the delivery?"

"Well…yeah, but Deacon Mosby is a busy man. And sorta eccentric. I didn't think to ask." Cross leans forward. "You don't honestly think the deacon is—?"

"The envelope that you and Davis sent to the hill contained sensitive material that has been used to blackmail Senator Carlisle. You're an accessory to all of this, unknowing or not and until Davis turned himself in, you were the number one suspect. A history of violence towards women, a conviction and prison time served. If Davis hadn't gotten cold feet, the FBI would be knocking down _your_ door right now. And given that when Davis attacked the senator, he pinned her to the floor and called her a dyke, I think it's a fair assumption to say that whoever is behind this intended you to take the fall," Olivia finishes, watching as Cross goes rigid.

His throat works. "I…"

"So you need to tell me just how well Deacon Mosby knows you." Olivia stands up. "I'll give you a few minutes to get your thoughts straight."

Once the door is closed firmly behind her, she yells for Harrison who comes skidding down the hallway, eyes the picture of panic. "What's happening? You all right?"

Olivia shifts her stance. "You guys know I still have a gun in my bag, right? Cross isn't a threat."

Harrison nods and catches his breath. "So….?"

"Earl Mosby. I want absolutely everything you can find on him now. And make a pot of coffee, would you?"

When Olivia goes back into the room, Cross looks no calmer. His hands are shaking, but he takes the cup of coffee graciously.

"I'd like to help you, Mr. Cross. I need you to be as honest as possible in order for me to do that."

Cross nods and takes a deep breath.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Please drop me a review; I love feedback!


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